


practice makes perfect

by aiyah



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Practice Kissing, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Slow Burn, Smut, Tutoring, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah
Summary: Sokka's bad at sex.Like, really bad.Painstakinglybad.Luckily, Zuko's a good tutor.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 81
Kudos: 315





	1. orientation & introduction

**Author's Note:**

> for wheat & sin.
> 
> (will be updated every 2-3 weeks, i hope y'all enjoy :>)

The first thing Zuko sees when he comes back from his meeting with management is his coworker’s infernal smile.

“Party’s tonight,” June says, spinning around in her chair. She’s sipping on a cup of Thai iced tea, her kohl-rimmed eyes blinking up at Zuko in amusement.

“What party?”

“Don’t tell me you _forgot_.” June almost has the decency to look surprised—or annoyingly smug, depending on the slant of light coming in from the windows. “Jee’s farewell party? All you can eat yakiniku at Gyu-Kaku?”

“Oh.” Zuko settles into his seat and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his calendar and cursing under his breath. He’s been looking forward to this particular weekend, especially since fall semester starts next week and he’s just about done with his final report for his internship. “Oh _shit_.”

“You serious, dude?” June leans back. “Everyone’s going, even Piandao.”

“Besides—” she waggles the Thai iced tea between her delicately manicured fingers. “Zhao from accounting’s going to pay for everything.”

Zuko doesn’t want to go out on such a night, all blustery and cold and wet, but it’s Jee’s last day in the office and that old man has always looked out for him ever since the first day of his summer internship until now, so who was Zuko to refuse such an offer?

(Not to mention the fact that Piandao’s going to be there. Piandao is nice, but he’s nice in that _your-favorite-uncle-you-don’t-want-to-disappoint_ type of nice, and Zuko really, _really_ doesn’t like letting his mentor down.)

(And if Zhao’s paying for everything—well, then. Zuko’s not going to say no to a free meal and the open bar. _More oolong hai for me, I guess_. _And gyūtan. Definitely more gyūtan_.)

“Of course I’m going,” Zuko says, tossing his phone on his desk. He reaches up to loosen the tie around his neck so he can take a proper breath. (Damn upper management and their strict dress codes. It’s not like anyone actually gives a shit about what the interns are wearing as long as they’re getting their work done.)

“Nice, kid.” June smirks.

Zuko places a well-aimed kick to the back of June’s chair, mouth curving into a smile at the angry yelp of surprise as his coworker rolls away, heels flailing as she struggles to retaliate with a kick of her own.

He continues working for a bit, mostly catching up on some emails, filling out a spreadsheet or two before sending it to the right departments, the sort of stuff any marketing intern would be doing at a publishing company. Zuko’s already gotten the return offer to come back to Shu Jing after graduation, and he hopes he’ll be promoted to something other than doing social media research and creating meaningless slide decks that none of the executives actually pay attention to during their weekly meetings.

( _Get me out of here_ , his brain cell chants like a neverending mantra, counting down the seconds until work is over. Zuko can’t agree more.)

When the clock strikes six and June comes around to his desk, coat over one arm and bag slung over her back, Zuko finally gets ready to leave. He adjusts his tie, shrugs on his coat, and follows the gaggle of his coworkers out the door and into the elevator. It’s the weekend now, and corporate can go suck it for the next two days.

The yakiniku shop is rowdy and full when they finally make it up the steps, and smoke clings to Zuko’s clothes as soon as he walks in. He belatedly regrets wearing his nicest suit today, but that presentation—that afternoon quarterly business presentation was important. Zuko had even worn his favorite tie—the burgundy one striped with slivers of grey—to make the best impression, of course. But sitting here, sandwiched between June and some other older woman whose name Zuko never bothered to remember, it didn’t really seem to matter anymore.

The woman turns to him and smiles. “What do you want to drink, sweetie?”

“Could I get a yuzushu, please?” Zuko asks. _I am twenty-two years old, I am not a sweetie_ , he wants to say, but his face— _your baby face_ , Azula likes to call it—is enough to get him coddled by all the aunties and carded at virtually every place he goes to.

“Sure thing, honey!”

( _Honey isn’t much better_.)

“So,” June begins when the platters of meat appear on the table, picking up slices of tripe and tongue and laying them down on the grill. “Your classes start next week, right?”

“Yup.” Zuko’s yuzushu arrives and he downs it in two gulps, sharp citrus seeping into his senses. “It’s going to be interesting.”

“Senior year’s always interesting.” June whistles, twirling a blade of fresh shiso in one hand as she expertly maneuvers each slice of meat on the grill with a pair of tongs. “I hope you’re excited.”

“If the senioritis doesn’t kill me first.”

“Sure, sure.” June picks up a freshly seared slice of tongue with the tongs and bows exaggeratedly. “An offering to you, my child.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Zuko protests. He squeezes a bit of lemon over the meat, picks it up with his chopsticks, and eats it in one bite. The beef is smooth and luxurious in his mouth, with just enough acidity to cut through the fattiness.

“And yet you work twice as hard.” June flips a piece of tripe over. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come to the office later than me.”

“I just like being on time, that’s all.” Zuko balances his chopsticks on his plate. Punctuality has always been his strong suit—along with the many literal suits he owns—and it reflects on his work ethic, even as a low-level intern in the company. He wonders how someone like June—June, who habitually arrives at the office right before lunch break—hasn’t been fired yet, but it probably has something to do with the fact that she miraculously finishes all of her work on time.

“Oh, hush.” June places another slice of tongue on the grill. “I know for a fact that you interns don’t have _that_ much to do besides spreadsheets and presentations. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the company-sponsored happy hours before.”

“Again. I was busy.”

“Guess we got ourselves a textbook case of a workaholic.”

Zuko shrugs.

“Well, you know what they say: all work and no play makes Zuko a dull boy.” June waggles the tongs in Zuko’s direction.

“I don’t think that’s how the proverb goes.”

June just laughs as she piles more meat on the grill, fat dripping through the slats and sizzling in the fire below. The vegetables come next—a foil pouch of mushrooms with butter, a handful of cabbage, sliced carrots and onions—soaking up the flavors of tenderloin and skirt steak. Zuko orders a bowl of rice, dips his gyūtan in tare and drips the extra sauce over his bowl, the rice soaking up sweet, fat, salt.

It seems like Zhao _really_ did go all out for this farewell party, or did Piandao arrange this?—there’s round after round of toasts, sake flowing freely from table to table as people get up to wish Jee a bright and happy future, some crying, some laughing, others whispering about how glad they are that the terror of the sales department is finally making his graceful exit from the cutthroat world of children’s publishing.

“Bet he’s glad to be gone.” June throws back a whiskey highball, face reddening with the alcohol coursing through her system. “Retirement. Can you imagine?”

“Nope.” Retirement seems so far away. Zuko takes a sip of his oolong hai. “I thought he said he wanted to work with kids or something.”

“Jee’s going to be spending time with his grandchildren in Japan,” the lady sitting next to Zuko says fondly. “I overheard him talking about how he wants to open some art classes.”

Zuko nods. The oolong hai is lazily making its way throughout his body, roasted molasses in his veins that give him a pleasant buzz. He wonders what it’d be like to be out in the countryside teaching children how to paint, paper cups of rainbow-stained water and flecks of color glittering from the tatami. They’d probably paint something like flowers or mountains, something bright and cheerful.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher,” June says, and Zuko realizes that in his oolong-hai-stupor, his thoughts have escaped from his mind and out his mouth.

“I don’t.” Zuko drinks the rest of his oolong hai. “I’m not good at teaching.”

“Aw, c’mon!” June pats him on the back. “I’m sure you aren’t _that_ bad. Didn’t you say that you, like, TA’d for a class last year? Or was that someone else?”

“Oh, I did, but it wasn’t really a TA thing, actually,” Zuko replies, because he didn’t actually _TA_ for the class so much as grade lit reviews and wonder how the students even got into the University of Boiling Rock in the first place.

(In the students’ defense, it’s not their fault that UBR has that writing requirement for graduation. Zuko’s sure that they hate the experience of writing their lit reviews or mock cover letters as much as he hates grading them. There are just some things in life that can’t be graded.)

June picks up a bottle of sake and tilts it over. A few drops of liquid make it into her cup before she lolls sideways and collides with Zuko’s shoulder. “I think you’d make a _great_ teacher.”

Zuko wobbles.

“I—I—” and maybe it’s the oolong hai or the sake or the damn yuzushu from earlier, because fruity drinks can be so disarmingly dangerous if you’ve had a few without realizing it, “—I’m not a good teacher, okay? _I hate teaching_.”

“Awww,” June slurs, waggling a finger in Zuko’s face. “Don’t say that so quickly. I bet that’s gonna come back ‘n bite you in the ass or something.”

“You _wish_.” Zuko slams his cup into the table, drops of sake raining everywhere. Someone’s hollering for another toast again—half the office is standing up, a swathe of grass swaying unsteadily in the smoky breeze, raising their glasses in the air in unison—Zuko picks up his cup of sake and joins them.

“To Jee. May he live forever and paint lovely pictures of frogs with his granddaughter and eat lots of delicious food in Japan,” Piandao says gravely, cup wobbling in his hand as he holds it reverently. He almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “We wish you all the best.”

There’s a murmur of approval across the crowd.

“To Jee!”

Zuko drinks his entire cup in one gulp, wiping his lips with his shirtsleeve. The buzz in his ears is nice and comforting, a steady hum that vibrates from the top of his head to his toes.

══════════════════

Zuko walks through the doors into FILM 482 and does a double take.

“Hey, handsome.”

“ _Mai?_ ”

“The one and only.”

Zuko feels like he hasn’t seen Mai in forever. The last time they were in class together was Professor Lo’s introduction to Shakespeare class two years ago, back when Zuko was still in the throes of his gen ed requirements and Mai was trying to figure out if she wanted to study communication or comp lit. They fell in love during _Macbeth_ , broke up in _Twelfth Night_ , and became great friends by the time _King Lear_ rolled around. All in all, not bad for a class’s work.

“What’re you doing here?” Zuko slides into the seat next to hers.

“Probably the same thing you’re here for.” Mai pulls her hair up and sticks a pen into her makeshift bun. Her nails are red, a pretty crimson contrasting with the velvet-black lipstick she’s chosen today.

“Elective,” they say simultaneously.

“Yup.” Mai nods her head gravely. “It was either this or modernist poetry.”

Zuko hums in agreement. He can’t really see his ex-turned-best-friend sitting in a modernist poetry class even though the material is right up her alley, all sharp, grayscale writing with the existentialism to boot.

“Yikes,” a familiar voice echoes from across the room. Zuko looks up to see Jet sauntering into the room, slouching into the nearest. He’s chewing on a pen, and Zuko wonders how long it’ll take for him to end up with a mouthful of sticky ink.

“What’re you doing—”

“Core requirement.” Jet rolls his eyes. “Thought watching movies sounded fun, so here I am.”

Zuko winces. Even public policy majors aren’t let off the hook with UBR’s hefty list of requirements for graduation.

A few more people wander into class—Zuko recognizes Teo from anthropology and a pretty girl whose name he doesn’t remember—filling up seats in the tiny seminar room before the professor themselves shows up, an elderly woman who strides into the room with her lips pursed and her forehead creased. She reminds Zuko of one of his relatives, the scary grand-aunt that always comments on his lack of a girlfriend when he goes home for holidays.

“Welcome to FILM 482: Science Fiction Through the Ages,” the professor says without preamble. “If you think you’re not going to be able to put in the work for this class, I suggest that you drop it now.”

And with those words, the professor sits down at the head of the room and pulls out a pair of spectacles. They make her look ten times more menacing when she puts them on.

A hush falls over the room, several students grimacing, others looking like they’re trying not to cry. Zuko’s had his fair share of cantankerous and odd professors over the years, but this professor definitely takes the prize for “most intimidating syllabus class”.

The professor looks up, arching her eyebrows. “Oh? So none of you left.”

Silence.

“Very well.” She pulls out a binder. “Some introductions might be underway, yes? My name is Professor Wu. You may refer to me as Professor Wu, Dr. Wu—just professor is fine as well. If we’d like to go around and introduce ourselves? Perhaps name, major, and why you’re here?”

She points to Jet. “And please. Before you start, remove that pen from your mouth.”

Jet reluctantly drops his pen on the table. “Hey everyone. Name’s Jet, senior studying public policy, and I’m here because—”

 _Crash_.

The door slams open.

Everyone turns to look, Professor Wu scowling like someone’s just interrupted the most important thing in her life right now.

There’s a guy standing in the doorway, panting ever-so-slightly in a sky-blue hoodie and dark joggers, a skateboard tucked under one arm. He’s tall—not that Zuko can really tell, sitting down and all—with curly gray hair tied in a ponytail, a stark contrast to his dark undercut. That’s the first thing that catches Zuko’s eye: a damn flyaway strand of silver tucked behind the guy’s platinum-studded ear, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The guy murmurs apologies as he scoots past the students sitting near the door, falling into the only open seat available—the one right across from Zuko.

 _Oh, he’s cute_.

(And _that’s_ the moment when Zuko knows he’s in trouble, because his first thought is about how attractive the guy is and not about his punctuality.)

A delicate cough. Professor Wu looks none too pleased at this development.

“Late for class, and on the first day?” She clicks her tongue in that disapproving-auntie way. “Since you’ve decided to humbly grace us with your presence, how about you introduce yourself next?”

“Oh, sure!” the guy says, and Zuko is instantly struck by the gravelly timbre of his voice. It’s low and rumbling, a fast-flowing river of phonetics that washes over Zuko’s skin, and he wonders how such a powerful voice could come from such a skinny-looking guy. Zuko ventures a peek—a small glance, really—at the guy, at his rugged jawline, his constellation of freckles against baby-blue eyes, his wobbly smile that reminds Zuko of the beluga whales he saw that one time he went whale-watching in Quebec with Azula.

( _He’s a little more than cute, isn’t he?_ Zuko’s brain cell murmurs.)

( _Shut up_.)

Then Beluga Boy—no, _the guy_ —no, _Beluga Boy_ —flashes him a quick smile, all warm and carefree, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Zuko was already sitting in his chair—well, he’d probably already be on the ground, heart quaking as he wonders why someone he doesn’t even know is affecting him this much.

He almost forgets to introduce himself to the class until Mai not-so-subtly jabs him in the ribs. Zuko stammers out a hasty blurb about himself, something along the lines of “I’m Zuko, English major, really enjoy poetry” (and _not_ the view, which was something he had to bite back) before hunching back in his seat, blood rushing to his eartips. He can’t get Beluga Boy’s wobbly smile out of his mind, and for the first time in his life, Zuko is utterly distracted in class.

(A noteworthy feat, considering the fact that Zuko’s sat through introductory comp lit classes and that hellish Shakespeare class, two courses that are notorious for their monotonous professors and overall bland material. He’s always been on top of his game, always submitting his assignments as early as possible, always the first one to finish a test, always ready with his carefully highlighted notes and neatly-packed bullet point lists—until now.)

Zuko actually almost misses Professor Wu’s dismissal until he receives a sudden slap from Mai.

“Ow!” Zuko rubs his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“C’mon, class is over.” Mai’s already packed up her bag. “Do you want to get lunch? When’s your next class?”

“Lunch sounds—” and Zuko trails off, head whipping around to see a flash of gray ducking out the classroom. Beluga Boy is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, a thorn of regret lodges in his chest.

 _Damn. And I didn’t even get Beluga Boy’s real name_.

“Who’s Beluga Boy?” Mai’s voice cuts through Zuko’s thoughts.

“Oh! Oh, uh,” Zuko stammers, internally cursing his inner thoughts making their way to the surface. “Beluga Boy is… he just is…”

“Oh, you’re helpless.” Mai shakes her head. “Just tell me who you’re talking about. C’mon, I want to know.”

Zuko slides his laptop into his backpack and stands up, joints cracking slightly at the sudden movement. “The cute guy that was sitting across from me. You know, the one with the gray hair and—”

“Sokka.”

“—the skateboard—huh?”

“His name.” Mai pulls on her coat as they leave the room. “His name is Sokka.”

She pauses. “ _Never_ say Beluga Boy _ever_ again.”

 _Sokka, huh_.

Mai catches him grinning like an idiot, and she rolls her eyes ruefully before dragging Zuko to a table inside the dining café. They open up their styrofoam containers, the smell of spices wafting into the air. Zuko goes quiet, mixing his white and hot sauces into his rice. He likes how the red and the white bleed together into a pale orange-pink, punctuated by fragrant cubes of chicken and rice.

“So,” Zuko says when he scrapes up the last grains of rice onto his fork. He contemplates asking Mai about what he missed in class, if there was anything on the syllabus that Professor Wu went over, if there was anything interesting about Sokka—

“He’s an applied mathematics major minoring in computer science,” Mai rattles off from memory. “Also a senior, and he’s taking this class because, and I quote, ‘movies are interesting and I enjoy movies’.” She punctuates the last part with air quotes.

“Sounds interesting.”

“Sounds like _someone’s_ interested.” Mai raises an eyebrow.

Zuko glares at her.

Mai shrugs. “You aren’t denying it.”

“Ugh, just leave me alone.”

“As your ex-now-best-friend, I only have your best interests in my heart,” Mai says solemnly. “And I can tell that you want to go for it.”

“So?”

“So? Go for it.” Mai pops open her can of ginger ale. “Go talk to him. Make friends. Who knows? Maybe he’s interested, too.”

“Yeah, right,” Zuko says, but the thought of Sokka talking to him is enough for his cheeks to warm ever so slightly.

“Agni, you’ve already got it bad,” Mai says over a forkful of fish over rice. And she would know, honestly, because Mai’s like that.

══════════════════  
**POCKY BOY**

Hey are you busy tn?

ohoho  
he doth speaketh

…

ok fine  
lol  
i’m free  
whaddaya want

Have you played MJ before?

mj?  
michael jackson?  
zuko what the fuck  
u kno i suck at singing

Mahjong, dumbass.

oh oh  
oh yeah  
oh yeah ofc  
lmao yeah  
i’m rly good at it  
club champ in high school  
wait why

Would you like to come and play mahjong?  
It’ll be me, my sister, and her girlfriend.  
We’re missing a player.

oooooooooooh  
oooooooooooH  
i’m interested

Jet, damnit, give me a straight answer.

alright alright  
yeah i’m good  
rly good  
yeah i’ll come  
i’ll finally get to meet azula  
oooooooooooooh

Oh no.  
Absolutely not.  
Don’t you DARE hit on her.  
I literally just told you she has a girlfriend.

bro wtf u kno me  
haru would KILL me if i did that  
holy shit  
wait  
can  
can haru come  
pls  
owo

Did you just  
Did you just “owo” me.

maybe?  
owo

hello???

…  
My sister says the more the merrier.  
I guess your boyfriend can come along, too.

SWEET  
C U THEN  
TXT ME THE ADDRESS  
U WON’T REGRET IT

Why do I have the distinct feeling that I will.

TRUST ME BB  
U WON'T  
C U SOON  
;)

══════════════════

“I don’t trust you,” Zuko says when Jet wins yet another round of mahjong. They’re sitting in Azula’s living room, all huddled around a table teeming with jade-and-white tiles. There’s the slightest ripple of tension in the air, Azula glaring angrily at her tiles as Yue reaches out and pats her arm comfortingly.

“Too bad.” Jet cracks a sunflower seed between his teeth and spits out the shell. “Sucks to suck, bro.”

The tension thickens.

Yue claps her hands together. “How about another round? Or maybe a round of shots? We have more soju in the fridge, if you’d like. And butter mochi. Azula’s a fantastic baker—aren’t you, babe?”

This last sentence is punctuated with a smile and a side-hug, and Zuko feels the tension ebbing away from the room when Azula leans on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m down for another round!” Haru pipes up. “Actually, could I get some soju first?”

“Of course,” Yue replies, untangling herself from Azula’s grasp and heading towards the kitchen. “Would you mind helping me with the mochi?”

“Oh, for sure. I love mochi,” Haru says. The two of them disappear into the kitchen, and then it’s just Zuko, Jet, and Azula sitting at the table.

“So. How’re things going between you and Zuko?” Azula asks Jet, legs crossed as she folds her tiles facedown and prepares to shuffle the sea of jade. “I’ve been trying to matchmake him my entire life and somehow he never told me he was going out with—

Jet smirks. “Well, you see—”

“ _Azula_ ,” Zuko says through gritted teeth. “Jet’s my classmate, and Haru’s his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Azula purses her lips.

Zuko’s utterly mortified. He’s been playing fifth wheel to two bicycles this entire night, and he’d rather not dwell on the fact that he’s painfully single-and-ready-to-mingle, as Jet likes to put it.

“Look, Azula,” Jet says, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to hook your brother up with someone for the past year, and it’s _so difficult_.”

“And I’ve been trying to do the same thing for the past twenty years,” Azula replies exasperatedly. “I really, really thought that Mai would be the one.”

The two of them exchange solemn nods, colleagues commiserating on the battlefield of overcoming the odds to successfully set Zuko up with someone.

“Did I _ever_ say I was lonely?” Zuko cuts in.

Azula sighs dramatically. “You don’t need to _say_ it, Zuzu. Everyone can see it. You’re lonely and want company and we just want to help you out.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Jet says.

Zuko wrinkles his nose. No one can forget the awkward Lunar New Year party where Aunt Meili tried to set him up with her best friend’s coworker’s daughter with only one blurry iPhone picture as proof and a physician’s salary as a dowry. (Zuko still hasn’t talked to his aunt ever since that incident.)

Jet breaks the silence. “Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong places.”

“Huh.” Azula folds her arms. “Maybe we are.”

“Hello?” Zuko waves a hand in both of their faces. “Zuko here? Wondering why you’re talking about me like I’m not here or something?”

“Aw, brother dear,” Azula replies. “We’re just trying to figure out how to find someone—”

She hesitates, voice trailing off as her eyes narrow in concentration.

“Wait a second, you can’t—” Zuko begins, only to receive a sharp fingernail to his lips as a reply.

“Hush. _I’m thinking_.”

There are only three things that Zuko fears most in the world: spiders, clowns, and his sister.

Unfortunately, one of them is staring straight at him, bright eyes and big smiles all around.

(Zuko really doesn’t want to know why Azula has that certain light in her eyes, the one that screams “ _SHE’S GOT AN IDEA ~~AND IT’S A TERRIBLE ONE!~~_ ” in fluorescent orange, warning everyone to stay away _or else_.)

“Zuzu?” Azula singsongs. “I think I might have just the thing for you.”

“Oh, no.” Zuko looks around. Jet’s still sitting there, leering as he cracks sunflower seed after sunflower seed with his teeth. Yue and Haru return from the kitchen with a couple bottles of soju and a plate of golden butter mochi between them.

Haru hands a bottle of soju to his boyfriend before taking one for himself. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing—”

“Zuko’s love life,” Azula and Jet chime in unison.

“ _Ugh_.”

“Is there something going on with Zuko?” Yue hands Zuko a square of butter mochi.

Zuko grumbles as he takes a bite, bits of flaky crust mixing with the rich chewiness of the mochi. He wishes that Azula would just let the whole thing drop, but knowing Azula and her tendency to hold grudges—she still constantly reminds Zuko about the one time that he accidentally left her at the turtleduck pond _fifteen years ago_ —Zuko knows his won’t let this go at all.

“Oh, I just thought up a funny story, actually.” Azula settles back in her seat, pulling Yue into her lap. “So, I was out at the library with Ty Lee this morning—we’re checking out books for our poli sci class, obviously—when I turn the corner to go into the café, and who do I see but the perfect guy for my brother?”

Zuko almost chokes on his mochi.

“Tall, cute, with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Azula looks off into the distance with a smile on her face. “ _Exactly_ the kind of guy Zuko would go for.”

 _How the fuck did she know I like blue eyes?_ Zuko takes a sip of soju. “Excuse me—”

“Naturally, I decided to do some _reconnaissance_ , just to get a lay of the land, see if he’s looking for someone, if he’s interested, that kind of thing—”

“Az, please tell me that—”

“—when I happened to overhear the saddest thing.” Azula pauses, eyes going misty. “You see, this guy had just been dumped—”

( _That’s an automatic no from me, dawg_ , Zuko’s brain cell mutters.)

“— _because he was bad at sex_.”

Zuko actually chokes this time, not that anyone else is paying attention. He coughs and hacks, fingers flying as he scrambles to grab his soju to wash it down, the alcohol stinging as it goes down the correct pipe.

“Oh, poor thing.” Yue claps a hand to her mouth. “How horrible.”

“Dude, who says that kinda thing in public?” Jet grimaces. “Like, I know that being bad in bed sucks, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t that the kind of thing you keep on the down-low or something?”

Zuko’s still busy washing the taste of mochi out of his trachea.

“I know, I know, right?” Azula almost sounds sympathetic. “And he was going on and on about how this guy just _dumped_ him for that, and I could tell that he was getting super desperate, so I decided to do something.”

She takes a swig of soju for dramatic effect. “I walked over, introduced myself, and told him that my brother would be happy to help him out. Tutor him, if you will.”

Zuko—Zuko—what’s the next level after choking? full-out asphyxiation?—anyway, Zuko’s way past that level now.

A couple of things happen all at once. First, Zuko drops his bottle of soju on the floor which, predictably, thuds sideways, spilling soju everywhere. Next, _he_ falls to the floor in a combination of confusion and choking, executive function lost as his body fights to regain basic homeostasis. Finally—by the miracle of Agni’s right pectoral or something—Haru and Jet actually pull him back into his chair, Azula coming over and pounding circles in his back.

Zuko continues coughing, the burn of backwards crumbs aching in his throat as he finally sucks in a lungful of fresh air. The first thing he does is grab his sister by the collar of her shirt, wrenching her down to eye-level.

“Azula, you _can’t_ be serious.”

Azula actually looks somewhat remorseful.

“ _Az_.” Zuko’s voice is getting dangerously close to ultimate freak-out mode. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you did anything else after that.”

“Oh, _I_ didn’t—” Azula replies, and Zuko feels a sense of relief washing over him.

“—I just gave him your number instead.”

The sense of relief immediately sours into a sense of panic.

Zuko contemplates either freaking out and then going home, or heading into the kitchen and shoving his head into the freezer, hoping that the temperature alone will be enough to numb his entire being.

Zuko opts for the first option.

“ _Azula Huo, what have you done_ —” he’s practically screeching, loud enough to rattle the empty glasses on the table but not enough to scare the neighbors.

Azula shrugs nonchalantly, having been witness to many of Zuko’s tantrums (and vice versa). “I think you should check your phone, actually.”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

“It’s just a phone, Zuzu. C’mon. Go check.”

Amber clashes with hazel, rumbling quietly until Zuko gives up.

“Fine.” He picks up his phone. There’s a couple of unread messages and emails from work, a Canvas update, and—well, would you look at that.

 _Five unread messages from an unknown number_.

“Fucking—”

 _Crunch_.

Zuko whirls around. Yue, Haru, and Jet are sitting on the couch in a perfect row, a bowl of popcorn in Haru’s lap as they take turns eating. Zuko has no idea where the popcorn came from, only knows that these three people have front-row seats to his complete and utter emotional breakdown.

“Would y'all mind just—” he waves a hand towards the kitchen, “—just giving us some privacy so I can talk to my sister _alone?_ ”

The Three Musketeers blink in perfect unison before getting up and shuffling away into the adjacent room.

Zuko focuses his attention back on his sister.

“Az, _please_ ,” he begs. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you actually did this. You know that I love helping people out, but not like this.”

Azula pats him on the shoulder. “Zuzu, I think you should give it a shot.”

“But—”

“Since when have my instincts ever been wrong?”

Zuko has instantaneous flashbacks to their childhood, to all of the dangerous stunts and things that Azula enjoyed doing to try and bend the rules, like that one time she convinced him to climb over the fence to steal peaches from their neighbor's backyard. He had ended up with a sprained wrist, an armful of unripe peaches, and one concerned sister.

“Mai.”

“That was _before_ I knew you swung that way.”

“Ruon-Jian.” Zuko folds his arms, tongue curling in distaste at saying that name. If Mai is his friendly ex, then Ruon-Jian—Ruon-Jian is definitely his shitty one.

“Who’s that?”

Zuko scoffs. “I _can’t_ believe you forgot about him, even after all the trouble I went through so you could hook up with Chan—”

“Oh, oh, _oh_. That bitch.” Azula sighs. “Totally forgot about him. And that was _also_ before I figured that I, y’know, didn’t go for guys.”

“And you set me up with his friend. Who is now my shitty ex.” _In more ways than one_ , Zuko wants to add. _Especially in the bedroom_.

( _Especially in the bedroom_.)

“Yeah, I did. Sorry about that.” Azula has the decency to look sheepish. “Look. So maybe I haven’t been the best wingwoman in the past. And maybe I made up a really shitty excuse for you to talk to—” she pauses, eyes widening. “Oh my _spirits_. Please don’t tell me. But also… are you a—”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence, Azula Huo.”

“Right, right. Boundaries.” Azula puts up both hands in defeat. “Not like I actually want to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life—”

“ _What did I say_.”

“—or lack thereof,” she finishes.

Zuko looks wearily at his sister, whatever remnants of his ego dusted in the wind.

Azula stares back at him.

“So are you a—”

Zuko is two seconds away from complete disintegration.

“No.”

“Then it’s fine!” Azula claps her hands together. “You’ve got the experience—I hope—and there’s a guy who needs help. And who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with him, I don’t know. But I really think you should try it out. Think about it like a fresh start or something.”

Zuko’s still in the process of recovering from his personal revelation. “But Az—”

“Plus, isn’t it your senior year?” Azula flicks him on the forehead, a fond look on her face. “Maybe it’s your chance to go out and meet some new people, find new love, all that jazz.”

“Yeah, you should go out, Zuko.” Jet’s voice mutters from the confines of the kitchen.

Slowly, Zuko turns around, eyes rolling in exasperation when he sees Yue, Haru, and Jet peeking out from behind the door.

“You really think I should do this, huh.”

“ _Please_.” Jet sounds desperate. “ _Please_. I’ve been trying to get you to go out for so long. You deserve it, Zuko. Take a break from your stress. Open up and get to know someone else.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all, Zuko.” Yue says quietly.

Haru just nods his head in approval.

Zuko blinks. Honestly, he’s been so caught up with work and school and—well, mostly school and assignments and exams—point is, he’s been so caught up in other things, he’s basically put everything social and romantic off to the side.

(That had also been one of the reasons why Mai had broken up with him, something about how he could never seem to make the time for both of them because he was always nose-deep in coursework or other things. And now, as a senior, he finally has a chance to take a look at himself, to do something that _he_ enjoys.)

Besides—what’s the worst that could happen? He can just lose the number if it doesn’t work.

Zuko stands up.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, hoping the others can’t hear the tremor of uncertainty in his voice. “I’ll think about it, okay? Happy now?”

Azula pulls him into a side-hug while the other three walk towards them, crowing their approval, knocking popcorn into the air.

“You won’t regret it, Zuzu,” his sister whispers to him in his ear. “I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

Part of Zuko wants to believe Azula, but part of him—well, most of him—is still hesitant about the whole thing.

══════════════════  
**UNKNOWN NUMBER**

Hi uh.  
So I think ur sister  
Or someone who says they’re ur sister  
I’m so bad at this  
I think ur sister gave me ur number  
For like “help” and stuff?  
So I decided to text u abt it  
Sry if this seemed out of the blue

Hey.  
Hey, yeah.  
My sister told me about your situation.  
I’d be happy to help out.  
When would you like to meet?

Uh anytime tbh  
Just have work in the morning  
How abt tmrw afternoon?

That would work great.  
I’ll give you the details later.  
Oh, and by the way, what should I call you?

Oh lol right yeah  
Ur sister didn’t ask me for my name  
But also like  
Hm  
U can call me Wang  
Wang Fire

Wang Fire?

Yeah um  
Yeah  
Wbu?

…  
Call me Lee.

Nice 2 meet u, Lee

It’s nice to meet you, too.

Uh  
I guess  
See u tmrw?

Yup.  
It's a date.


	2. preliminary assessment

The morning after is always the worst.

Zuko doesn’t remember how he got home last night, probably something to do with Haru and Jet dragging him out of Azula’s place in the wee hours of the morning after Yue won the final round of mahjong and they moved on to playing other games. There had definitely been a round of strip poker here and there, maybe even drunk charades—honestly, Zuko doesn’t have a clue, except that there’s a bitter taste of a hangover on his tongue and an image of Haru in mid-twerk, shirtless, permanently seared on his cerebrum.

(No wonder Jet’s a clingy boyfriend.)

The headache pounds away in Zuko’s skull as he flounders around for his phone—just how much soju did he drink, anyways?—only to see a slew of notifications pinging in his ears.

He scrolls through his emails first—Professor Wu’s uploaded a new assignment for FILM 482—and checks his text messages next, brain sputtering to life when he reads his most recent conversation.

_Who’s Wang Fire?_

Zuko has no idea who this is, unless—wait a second—hold on—

The headache returns in full force as he skims the entire conversation.

_Oh, fuck._

Zuko drops his phone on the bed and stares up at the ceiling.

 _It’s the guy who’s bad at sex_.

══════════════════  
 **WANG FIRE**

Uh  
So are we still on for 2day?  
4 help  
4 my “situation”  
Sorry abt all the messages  
Yesterday I mean  
Sorry

══════════════════

Zuko sits up, hair askew as he slowly comes to terms with what he’s done.

He’s going to teach a literal stranger about sex.

( _Agni, where did I go wrong?_ his brain cell laments.)

The answer comes to him when he’s in the bathroom washing his face, weary-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, struggling to untangle the raven’s nest of his hair with a hairbrush and cursing all the while. Zuko traces all of his problems back to the original source.

The original, bubbly, smart-as-a-whip source.

 _Spirits, I’m going to kill her_.

══════════════════

 _Ring, ring_.

“Hello?”

“Az, I’m going to kill you.”

“You say that every day, and yet—”

“I swear to Agni—”

“Hold on.” A rustle. “Give me, like, five minutes to prepare myself before you verbally eviscerate me.”

“Az, I said it was a date.”

“With who?”

“The guy you told me about yesterday.”

A pause. “Oh, you move fast, spring chicken.”

“ _Az, I’m serious. I set up a date with this guy and we’re_ —”

Staticky silence.

“You’re going to what?”

A cough. “Nevermind.”

“Zuzu, you can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

“ _I’mmeetingupwiththeguyandwe’regoingtotalkabouthissituation_.”

“Huh?”

“ _Ugh_.” There’s the sound of something breaking. “Az, I have a date with the guy that you said, and I quote, _is bad at sex_.”

“Was.”

“Excuse me?”

“Was. I said _was_ , not _is_.”

“That’s not the point, Az!”

“Really?”

“What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now? I can’t just leave him hanging.”

“True. Don’t ghost him. That’s just rude.”

“Please. You don’t have to remind me.” A gasp. “ _Shit_. I need to respond to him about meeting this afternoon—”

“Oh, good! That means you have a couple of hours to prepare yourself.”

“But I—”

“Look.” A sigh. “Just be yourself. Think about it like a—a, I don’t know, like a consultation or something? Or whatever consultants do. Like, helping people solve their problems, that kinda crap.”

“But it’s sex—”

“So? You can still use problem-solving skills for sex.” A huff. “Besides, didn’t you, like, do a ton of tutoring before? Think about it like that. You’re just going in to help someone.”

“Sex isn’t the same thing as Shakespeare, Az.”

“I mean, both of them require hands-on instruction, if you know what I mean.”

“ _Azula Huo_.”

“What?”

Silence.

“Okay, I’ll stop.” A pause. “You’ll be fine, Zuzu.”

“Will I?”

“I mean, you’re my brother. I know you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the boost of self-confidence.”

“And who knows? Maybe he’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

“Az, I—”

“Look, I gotta run. Got a gym date with Yue. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, I’m not—”

“Remember to be professional!”

“Az—”

“Use protection!”

“Wait—”

“Love you!”

 _Click_.

“Az?”

══════════════════  
 **WANG FIRE**

Hey, sorry, just saw this.  
Yeah, I’m free for the rest of today.  
How does 3 sound?

That works 4 me.  
Where do u want 2 meet?

Whatever’s good for you.

Uh  
I was about 2 say  
W/e is good w/ u

Oh.

Uh  
Have you been to The Jasmine Dragon before?  
The tea shop?

The one in Makapu Square?

Yeah, that one  
Is that ok?

Yeah, I'm good.  
I’ll see you then.

C u soon  
Wait  
Do I need 2 bring anything?  
4 our meeting?

Nope, just yourself.  
I have everything covered.

Cool cool  
C u then

══════════════════

Like any level-headed, sane-minded person, Zuko always has a backup plan. Just in case the first try goes wrong and he has to abort the entire mission.

It’s a pity that his failsafe comes in the form of a pen-eating, backpack-toting, wisecracking public policy major.

“I can’t believe you actually contacted him.” Jet’s voice crackles over the speakerphone. “And that you set yourself up on a date?”

Zuko sighs.

“That’s gutsy, dude.”

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“So, whaddaya want me to do again?” Jet asks.

“You’re my backup plan,” Zuko says, pausing to get up from his desk and begin rummaging through his closet. He’s trying to find something to wear, something that falls in the business casual category. If he’s going to play the part—well, he might as well look the part.

“Sorry, dude. My back’s only for one—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Zuko pulls out a button-down shirt that isn’t too wrinkled and lays it out on his bed. A pair of dress slacks goes next, followed by a pair of argyle socks. “I just need you to bail me out if I need it.”

“I’m _honored_.”

“Stop that.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll help you out.” Jet sounds like he’s on the verge of laughing. “So I just go there and swoop you out like Prince Charming if it goes to shit?”

Jet can’t see him wrinkling his nose, but Zuko does it anyway. “Prince Charming who?”

“Knight in shining armor? Sweeping you out from a bad date?”

“It’s not a date.” Zuko slams the closet door shut. “It’s a _consultation_. I’m not there to catch feelings.”

“Yeah, right. You never know.”

“Shut up.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” Jet scoffs through the phone. “Anything else I need to know?”

“That’s basically it.” Zuko shakes out the dress shirt before putting it on. “Oh, and code word’s pineapple.”

“Pineapple? Really?”

“Yeah, pineapple.” Zuko finishes buttoning up the shirt and looks over his ties. Would a tie really be too much?

“And then I just make an excuse and pull you out.”

“Yep.”

“Sweet. That I can do, dude.” Jet clicks his tongue. “Just let me know when and where.”

“Thanks.” Zuko wrestles with his shirt, folding down his collar before wrapping a strip of silk around his neck. The tie flutters down in a spool of brassy gold.

“No problem. See you later!” The phone clicks as Jet hangs up.

Zuko smooths back his hair and looks around for his backpack, the fancy one he bought on a whim. Azula _did_ mention something about protection, and Zuko’s not about to go into his first class—consultation, really—unprepared. What kind of instructor would he be if he didn’t show up with teaching materials?

Makapu is only a short walk away, and after one trip into the nearby CVS, Zuko shoves his regrets elsewhere, takes a deep breath, and heads towards The Jasmine Dragon.

Jet’s already there, laptop pulled up, headphones in. Zuko briefly makes eye contact with him, a short nod before he goes up to the counter and orders a drink to quell his nerves. There’s a secluded spot near the back of the shop, a stand of peace lilies flanking the cushy chairs and he settles in, heart thumping like it’s his first interview all over again.

══════════════════  
 **WANG FIRE**

I’m here already, just so you know.  
Sitting near the back, by the peace lily.

Oh ok  
Just got here  
I’m omw

══════════════════

“Large aiyu lemon pearl tea for Wang Fire?”

_Wang Fire?_

Zuko immediately shoots straight up, back ramrod straight, hands trembling as he tightens his grip on his cup of brown sugar pearl latte. He looks around as inconspicuously as possible, trying to figure out who Wang Fire would be—

—his heart skips a measure when he sees a tall guy walk up to the counter, eyes widening when he recognizes the gray hair, the piercings, the shaky smile underneath the moustache—

Wait.

_The what now?_

Zuko rubs his eyes furiously, ignoring the fact that rubbing his eyes can’t possibly be good for his contacts. He blinks once, twice, three times, gawking silently.

It’s Beluga Boy.

No, wait.

Sokka.

It’s Sokka, wearing the most hideous moustache known to man.

Zuko wants to smack himself on the head for falling for such a guy in the first place.

 _Wang Fire? More like Wang Liar_.

══════════════════  
 **POCKY BOY**

PINEAPPLE.

???

PINEAPPLE.

???  
zuko wtf

PINEAPPLE.

jeez bro wtf

PINEAPPLE.

is that a code word or?  
i’m confused

JET.  
PINEAPPLE.  
GET ME OUT OF HERE.  
NOW.

oh oh OH  
pineapple  
the word  
i forgot  
mb

IF YOU GET IT,  
PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE.

mb mb  
i got it  
ol’ jet’s here @ ur service

THANK YOU.

o wait  
holdup  
wait a sec  
WAIT

NO.

isn’t that…  
gimme a sec

GET ME OUT OF HERE.

ISN’T THAT SOKKA?  
FROM OUR MOVIE CLASS?

THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

J;LASKDJF;AD DUDE  
DUDE  
I’M  
BOOM  
I’M LEARNING SO MUCH  
I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW

JET.

HAHAHAHAHA  
HAHAHAHAHAHA  
I’M CHOKING  
THE STARS HAVE TRULY ALIGNED

JET I SWEAR ON AGNI AND BACK

u shouldn’t swear on a deity, zuko  
man i could cry rn  
this is hilarious  
i can’t breathe  
call 911  
holy shit  
LMAO

JET KUMAR.

oml oml this is fate  
zuko i can’t interfere with fate  
glhf dude  
i bleaf in u

JET.  
GET BACK HERE.

have fun on ur date!  
u’ll thank me later  
>:D

… I’m going to kill you.

no u won't  
have fun!!!  
rootin 4 u

JET.  
PLEASE COME BACK.  
I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIM.

══════════════════

Zuko watches helplessly as Jet gets up from his seat near the counter, boba straw wiggling between his teeth as he leaves the shop with a grin on his face. His only lifeline is gone now, sauntering away in the mall, probably heading off to tell Haru about what just transpired. Zuko hopes that Jet chokes on the grass jelly in his drink.

The minutes stretch, Zuko watching with bated breath as Sokka scans the entirety of the shop—looking for the peace lily Zuko had mentioned, most likely—before walking towards the table.

His table.

 _Ohshitohshitohshit_.

══════════════════

Dark, glistening orbs suspended in a swirl of cream and caramel. There’s a streak of golden-brown sugar drifting along the edges of the cup, like flames suspended in time, hovering below the pretty pattern of bubbles floating on the surface of the cup.

 _Pearl lattes are really a beautiful thing_.

Zuko continues looking down—even the cup itself has a beautiful design, a paperlike texture on the exterior—because he’s one dramatic reveal away from going into cardiac arrest. It’s like the celestial matchmaker has it out for something—Zuko really should’ve taken Chinese school seriously—wanting to prove to him that there is such a thing as serendipity in an endlessly chaotic world.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a pair of red Converse coming to a stop at his table.

“‘Scuse me, I’m looking for Mister Lee?” A voice echoes above him.

Zuko has nowhere to look besides up.

Sokka’s shifting from one foot to the other, running a hand through his hair. He’s wearing a cozy-looking sweater that complements his eyes, soft blue interspersed with stripes of ivory.

When their eyes meet—it’s almost like one of those K-drama moments with cherry blossom petals cascading around—

—except the only thing falling is that despicable scrap of fake hair when Sokka stares at him in shock.

Zuko watches as the moustache lands on the floor.

Oh, great.

 _Be professional, Zuko. You got this_.

══════════════════

It’s been five minutes, and Sokka’s still gaping silently like a fish out of water.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “Aren’t you—”

“You’re Sokka, right?” Zuko asks without preamble.

The silent gaping starts again, and Zuko has the distinct feeling that he’s looking into a fishbowl.

“ _Shhh_ ,” Sokka hisses, a horrified look on his face. “ _Keep your voice down_.”

“Sokka—”

“Who’s Sokka?” Sokka looks around as nonchalantly as a petrified person can, under these circumstances. “I don’t know who Sokka is. I’m Wang.”

“And I’m Lee,” Zuko deadpans. “Lee-ding you on.”

“But—um, wait—” Sokka points to him, then back at himself, painting squibbles in the air with his index finger in confusion. “Aren’t you Zuko? From my movies class?”

“Cinema studies.” Zuko takes a sip from his cup. He reaches out a hand. “I suppose we can drop the pretense now. Zuko Huo, at your service.”

“Um. I’m Sokka. Sokka Qanik.” Sokka smiles nervously as they shake hands.

“So, Sokka.” Zuko leans back and crosses his arms. Honestly, he’s baffled by the fact that someone like Sokka would be bad at sex, of all things—but who is Zuko to judge? He’s here to assess a situation and offer a solution. “What can I help you with today?”

“Um?” Sokka palms his drink in his hands. “I’m not quite sure?”

He falls silent, looking down into his lap. “I mean, Hahn just—Hahn’s my ex, by the way—Hahn—sorry if I’m getting too personal—”

“It’s alright.” Zuko nods slowly. “Take your time.”

“Well, uh. I guess—like, uh, I guess—I’m just _bad_ at it,” Sokka finishes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “And I, uh. Kinda need help.”

“Oh, I see.”

A hesitant silence tiptoes between the two of them. Zuko’s not sure how to proceed—his brain cell is still trying to process the fact that _apparently the cute guy from your cinema studies class is bad at sex?_ —while his professional side is fighting to stay in control.

“Well, it seems like you don’t have much in terms of specifics,” Zuko says quietly.

“Not really.”

Zuko’s heart hammers in his chest as he offers Sokka a comforting smile. “I’d need to know more before I can help you, you know?”

Something surges inside him as he reaches out and touches Sokka’s wrist, ignoring the sparks skipping along his nerves. “Do you want to show me?”

Time flows into molasses, Zuko waiting with bated breath for an answer. Sokka doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, Zuko curses inwardly.

 _Was I too forward? Unprofessional? Spirits, this is pointless_.

Zuko regretfully pulls his arm back, only for Sokka to grasp his hand, nodding slightly.

“Okay.”

══════════════════

Sokka’s apartment is surprisingly neat.

At least, that’s the first thing Zuko notices when he steps in through the door, eyes darting about as he blinks and adjusts to the warm sunlight washing over the main room, painting the couch, the table, the kitchen area in soft shades of yellows and oranges. Both of them take off their shoes, Sokka dropping his keys in an empty dish on the counter.

“My roommate’s out right now—she’s super cool, her name’s Suki, I met her during O-Week—and, uh.” He motions towards a closed door at the end of a short hallway. “Uh—my room’s over there,” he mutters under his breath. “If you want—”

“Yeah, of course.” Zuko pulls his backpack closer to himself as they walk down the hall, Sokka opening the door into a smaller room.

It’s minimalistic—that’s the first thing Zuko notices—a desk in the corner, a closet on the opposite side with a door ajar, a neat stack of textbooks sprouting from the floor next to the bed. The bed itself is large, and there’s probably a good three, four pillows on the bed, not including a winged lemur plushie, raggedly and clearly loved, tucked neatly on top of the comforter.

Zuko whistles. “Nice place you got here.”

"Thanks." Sokka blushes, cheeks reddening as he pulls off his glasses and places them on his desk.

They sit on the bed, facing each other, Zuko unzipping his backpack and pulling out the plastic bag from CVS and upending the contents on top of Sokka’s comforter.

A bottle of lube.

A rectangular pack of condoms, extra large.

A receipt so long, it could wrap itself around the planet several times.

He clears his throat. “I may have come prepared.”

Zuko picks up the receipt and crumples it into a ball, tossing it off to the side. He looks up at Sokka and realizes how terrified the other man looks, eyes practically bulging out of his skull as he picks up the pack of condoms and stares at it like he’s just discovered the meaning of life.

“Sokka?” Zuko waves his hand in front of his face. “Sokka?”

A blank _404: page not found_ expression flickers back.

Zuko taps a fingertip against Sokka’s knee. “Sokka?”

The page reboots. Sokka jerks up, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks rapidly.

“Oh! Oh, uh. Sorry about that,” he says bashfully. “Just got a little—a little—I didn’t realize—but I should’ve—materials—condoms.”

“Hm?” Zuko reaches out and tugs the box away from Sokka’s limp grip. “What about them?”

“ _Guh_ ,” Sokka replies, and Zuko realizes how he’s seconds away from entering Confusion: Condom? Central again.

“Let’s try again,” Zuko begins, snapping his fingers and watching as Sokka refocuses. “Remember what I said at the café? Relax. Just do what feels natural.”

“Besides.” He offers a reassuring smile. “I’m here to help you, not to judge you.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Now then.” Zuko places the box of condoms next to the lube. “Go on.”

Awkward silence trips into the space between them as Sokka surveys the two objects before him like he’s a archeologist on the brink of a novel discovery about ancient human artifacts (and not a twentysomething year-old man utterly baffled by the appearance of condoms in their natural, packaged habitat).

“Is this a test?” Sokka’s voice falters.

“No?” Zuko crosses his arms.

Sokka still looks confused. “I’m—” he furrows his eyebrows. “I’m—uh—I’m—can I phone a friend?”

“You want to _what_.”

“Phone a friend?” Sokka scratches his head, a slip of silver unraveling from his ponytail. “Look. I know that I’m not the best or—scratch that. I know that I _know_ literally nothing. But—wait, how do I put this—fuck—could you give me a hint or something?”

Zuko blinks.

“Sex is not a freemium game, Sokka.”

Sokka’s lips tremble as he pouts, puppy-eyes widening for maximum effect as he looks pleadingly at Zuko, and for a moment, Zuko feels himself stumbling just a little bit. Slowly, he looks over at the bottle of Astroglide, nudging the bottle with his foot until it tilts over and tumbles towards Sokka’s hand.

“ _Oh_.” Sokka breathes reverently.

Zuko looks away, blush erupting from his eartips to his toes.

“Uh—”

“You know we should get naked for this, right?” Zuko bends over to pull off his socks. There’s the sound of someone choking, and he whirls around in concern. Sokka’s face is beet red, his hand still clutching the bottle of lube like his life depends on it.

“You can put the bottle down, Sokka.”

“Okay.”

Zuko continues undressing, folding his pants neatly, placing his socks on top. He’s halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when a shaking hand presses against his chest.

“You—uh—you can—shirt—” Sokka babbles, trailing off into incoherent nonsense, his other hand pressed to his face, doing little to hide the wildfire raging across his cheeks.

“You want the shirt to stay on?”

“I mean—um, it’s—it’s up to—to you—” Sokka peeks at Zuko from in between his fingers.

 _Good spirits, he’s adorable_.

“Alright.” Zuko swallows, trying desperately to quell his own nerves. “The shirt stays on.”

He still pulls off his tie, though, wrapping the silken material into a smooth loop and twisting around to place his clothes on the nightstand before turning around and snuggling into the pillows. Zuko reaches for the lemur plushie and holds it to his chest, trying to shield the sounds of his heart going absolutely crazy as he squirms to find the perfect spot on Sokka’s bed.

When Zuko finally turns to look for Sokka, Sokka’s sweater and T-shirt are gone, probably somewhere over on the floor as he shimmies out of his joggers, one leg at a time, giving Zuko an absolute eyeful of taut muscle, firm skin, smooth curves—

( _Get it together, you idiot_.)

So much for staying professional.

“Come here,” Zuko says when Sokka’s stripped down to his underwear, placing the lemur plushie off to the side and opening his arms. “Do you want to start with some kissing?”

Sokka makes a little noise—of approval?—before crawling warily towards him, legs akimbo, until he’s straddling Zuko’s hips, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Zuko’s shoulders. Slowly, carefully, he bends down, lips brushing against Zuko’s cheek before he finally kisses Zuko on the lips.

Teeth.

That’s the first thing Zuko feels, a mix of teeth and tongue as Sokka leans in, lips chapped, tongue warm as he pushes Zuko down into the mattress. Zuko almost jumps at the intrusion when Sokka continues kissing him incessantly, desperately, tongue going every which way as he works Zuko’s mouth open.

 _Ouch_.

Their teeth collide, and it’s like Sokka’s the bull in the china shop and Zuko’s the expensive porcelain wobbling precariously on the shelves, physics haywire as he struggles to balance breathing and kissing at the same time. Each bump, each clink against his gums has Zuko rolling his eyes—not out of enthusiasm but of exasperation. The entire experience is warm and slobbery, and it reminds Zuko of Fang, his great-grandfather’s pet Chow Chow that always licked all over Zuko’s face when he was a kid visiting the family home—

Sokka’s a clumsy kisser, that’s for sure.

A bubble of laughter floats in his throat, and it takes all of Zuko’s willpower to push it back down. No. He has to _be professional_ , and the number one rule of being a ~~professional sex~~ tutor is to be unbiased and controlled.

(Zuko’s failing on both parts.)

 _Shit. Not the teeth_ , Zuko wants to scream when he feels Sokka nibbling on his bottom lip—well, less nibbling and more biting. Zuko’s nerves fire in confusion, trying to figure out if the sensation is painful or pleasurable—even Zuko himself can’t seem to figure this out. All he knows is that Sokka’s slowly been shoving him into the mattress— _is this a fucking Tempur-Pedic?_ —and that his lungs are slowly burning from the lack of oxygen.

“— _op_ ,” Zuko chokes out as he struggles to detach himself from the kiss. “For the love of Raava—”

Sokka leaps back like he’s been shocked.

“ _Sorry, sorry_ ,” he rambles, hands flailing. “Are—are—are you okay?”

Sokka’s eyes meet Zuko’s, a sea of agitated cerulean waves crashing against a cliff of unyielding hazel, and in that moment, Zuko makes another mental note: _too considerate for his own good_.

“I’m okay,” he replies, two fingers against his neck as he tests his heartbeat. _At least we haven’t reached hyperventilation levels yet_. “Just needed to breathe.”

“Oh! Was I—” Sokka slumps, “—I was being too forward, wasn’t I?”

Zuko swears he can see Sokka’s ponytail drooping, and something tugs at his heartstrings incessantly.

“No, you're totally good,” Zuko finds himself saying, reaching out and hooking a hand around Sokka’s shoulder. “Let’s move on.”

He gestures towards the bottle of lube and the pack of condoms with his free hand, hoping that Sokka’ll get the hint—

And Sokka does. Just not in the way that Zuko expects.

“Yeah.” Sokka clicks open the cap slowly, pouring lube into his palm, all slippery-shiny, dripping between his fingers. “Hahn—my ex, not that it matters, but—shit—fuck—shit, I shouldn’t have mentioned him— _fuck_ —Hahn used to do this—”

Something tightens its hold around Zuko’s lungs, and he raises a trembling finger to Sokka’s lips to shush him, because Agni be damned if he’s going to hear this gorgeous guy utter another man’s name again while they’re fucking, for fuck’s sake.

“Less talking, more doing,” Zuko growls as he spreads his legs open.

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m gonna do you until—” Sokka hesitates, worry coloring his cheeks. His fingers are shaking as he reaches down and applies the slightest bit of pressure _there_ , hesitatingly, inadvertently teasing Zuko. “Sorry. Force of habit. It’s just that—uh, yeah—dirty talk—um, something, something dirty talk—”

“What did I say about _talking?_ ”

A familiar flare of something—jealousy, perhaps—rears its ugly head, and Zuko, with all the wisdom and experience of one friendly ex and one shitty ex—makes a hasty, yet calculated decision.

In a wholly unprofessional move, he arches his back, takes a deep breath, and cants his hips, sinking onto Sokka’s fingers. There’s a gasp and a choke—Zuko’s not sure which noise came from him—because _oh my spirits, Sokka’s fingers are so fucking long_ , and it’s been a while since Zuko’s literally had something up his ass and _now that was a bad idea, you overachiever_ and _maybe you should’ve started with one finger first_.

Sokka yelps, entire body freezing in place. “Are you—”

“I’m— _hic_ , I’m _fine_ ,” Zuko manages to get out before he rolls his hips— _shit, that was a_ bad _idea_ —to take in more of Sokka. “Your turn.”

( _Spirits, I hope you don’t regret this_.)

But it’s too late for regrets, and Zuko reins in the remnants of his professionalism because _for Agni’s sake, I’m here to help, not to hinder_ and because he still needs to collect more information to assess Sokka’s situation. He nods encouragingly, even shoots Sokka with a reassuring smile, even as he’s praying desperately to himself to keep it together.

As nervous as he seems, Sokka does a fair job of preparing Zuko, with short, even strokes as he works Zuko open, eyebrows furrowed as he squints in concentration, a mathematician engrossed in assessing his latest attempt at a theorem. Or at least that’s what Zuko’s thinking, quietly and all as he tries to concentrate on the gorgeous guy situated in between his legs, finger-fucking him like it’s a piano syllabus evaluation and he has to hit the keys just right.

In Sokka’s case, he’s hitting all the keys—all except for the right one.

 _Oh_.

Zuko jolts when Sokka’s finger brushes over _something_ — _yes!_ —and then it’s gone, regretfully, when Sokka plunges in deeper and the wonderful feeling floats away like a perfect harmony in a sea of dissonance.

“Is this good?” Sokka asks.

Zuko tilts his head back as he evaluates the situation.

Fingers up his ass? Check.

A pleasant feeling buzzing in his belly? Check.

A beautiful, blushing man staring at him from between his legs? Checkity-check.

“Yeah, I am,” Zuko says. “Keep going.”

( _You’re doing great_ , he wants to add, but then this wouldn’t be an unbiased and professional evaluation, now would it?)

Sokka tentatively moves his fingers, and Zuko swallows down a moan. His partner may be inexperienced, but he—he definitely has the chops to play Zuko like a damn piano concerto, coaxing wave after wave of pure sensation from Zuko’s body as Zuko struggles to stay calm, maintaining some appropriate heart beat so he can continue to concentrate on Sokka’s ministrations. Sokka’s gentle, so slow that Zuko wonders if he’s only ever been stuck at a snail’s pace, and he holds his hips back from meeting Sokka’s every movement because _he’s just not moving fast enough, damnit_.

 _Perhaps he just needs another push_. Zuko decides it’s time to move on from the warm-up to the real thing.

“Let’s move to the next step, shall we?” Zuko says as he wiggles his hips from Sokka’s grasp. “C’mon. Show me what you got.”

He turns around, ass up, head down against the cushy pillows. Zuko can hear a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he wonders what Sokka’s face is like, if it’s blazing redder than a wildfire and more like a fieldful of crimson lilies blooming in the springtime.

Sokka eeps.

“Oh—uh—oh, okay.”

Predictably, Sokka doesn’t make it all the way in on his first try—not that it matters, of course, but it’s enough for Zuko to grit his teeth against the sudden twitch of pain when Sokka eases out and thrusts in again.

 _Shit_.

Zuko has severely underestimated the difference a few inches could make.

Sokka’s big, for lack of a better term—his fingers don’t do him justice _at all_ —and Zuko has a hard time holding his thoughts together as Sokka begins to move, leisurely, casually, at a rhythm so sedate, Zuko’s mind begins to wander elsewhere. It’s not that the sex is bad, but the little things are starting to add up—the speed, the grunts and groans coming from somewhere above Zuko—and even as lackluster as the experience is, Zuko’s touched by how hard Sokka’s trying.

Until the image of the DMV sloth from Zootopia pops up in Zuko’s head.

(Somewhere along the line, the sloth morphs into some version of Sokka—still with that gray ponytail and that earnest look on his face, like all he wants to do is to please Zuko in any way—)

Zuko buries his face into the pillow as he laughs, chest shaking at the utterly ridiculous image in his head.

The thrusting stops.

Zuko can feel Sokka tensing up, his body absolutely, heartstoppingly still. The silence grows cold in the air, and doubt begins to crawl in Zuko’s mind—and then there’s a hand on his shoulder and a wavering whisper in Zuko’s ear.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asks. “I—I—fucking—fuck—wasn’t supposed to happen—crying— _holy shit, are you crying? I’m so sorry_.”

“Wait a second—” Zuko begins, but Sokka’s already pulling out and scrambling away towards the edge of the bed, a mortified expression on his face as he trips over his own ankles trying to get away, mumbling a string of nonsense.

“—knew I was bad—Sokka, you _idiot_ —’course you’d be bad at the one thing—”

“Hold on—”

“—no wonder Hahn hated—Tui’s caudal fin, you need to work on—”

“Sokka.”

“—no way I’m going to get better—”

“ _Sokka_.” Zuko summons his remaining strength and rolls forward, catching Sokka by an ankle.

“—doomed— _huh?_ ”

And it’s like one of those slo-mo moments in the movies, like _The Matrix_ or something, except both of them lose what little balance they have as Zuko crashes forward, arms flailing until he wraps around something warm and broad as he falls into Sokka’s lap and receives an eyeful of Sokka’s dick in response.

 _Deep breaths. Stay professional_.

Zuko’s first thought is: _how the everloving_ fuck _did this manage to fit in me?_ , followed by a hearty helping of _Agni’s left pinky toenail, this is_ not _what I signed up for_ with a dash of _I should probably check up on how Sokka’s doing, since I’m assessing him and all that_ —

He looks up.

“Don’t look at me.” Sokka’s head is tilted upwards towards the ceiling, both hands covering his face, chest flushing in embarrassment. “This is so humiliating.”

“No, it’s not,” Zuko says reassuringly, tutor-voice back in full force. “It really isn’t.”

“But it is!”

“No, you’re doing fine!”

“I’m—this is— _oh fucking fuck, I fucked up_.”

Zuko stifles a noise of exasperation as he rolls back on his heels, sitting up so his face is level with Sokka’s. “Sokka, look at me.”

“No.”

“Sokka, please.”

“ _I made you cry during sex_.”

“Sokka, I wasn’t crying,” Zuko says, reaching out to pull Sokka’s wrist, gently, until he sees those baby blues and stardust freckles again.

“You—but—you were shaking—”

“I was laughing,” Zuko admits, a small kernel of guilt lodging inside his stomach when he sees how appalled Sokka looks.

“Was I _that_ bad?”

“No! No, you were fine,” Zuko replies, bringing their hands together. Sokka’s trembling up a storm, fingers shaking when Zuko traces over each knuckle, each callus, each palm line. “You’re—” he drops his head, searching for Sokka’s heart line with his index finger, “—you did nothing wrong.”

“But you said you _laughed_.”

“I did.”

“Isn’t that bad?” Sokka’s voice is barely a whisper.

Zuko jolts up in shock. “ _What?_ ”

“Laughing during sex. Isn’t that—doesn’t laughing mean that it wasn’t good?”

( _What the fuck?_ )

“Who told you that?” Zuko arches an eyebrow, confused.

He pauses. “And if you say his name again—”

Sokka gulps audibly.

 _Damn. Must’ve been one hell of a crappy ex_.

“He never told me if he felt good,” Sokka begins, voice wobbling. “It was always quick, fast, _no talking, Sokka_ , because anything besides the actual sex was unnecessary.”

Zuko looks at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Sokka twiddles his thumbs, a curl of gray dangling over his forehead.

A surge of fury burns bright under Zuko’s skin, and he makes a mental note to give Hahn—or whatever that douchebag’s name is—a piece of his mind if he ever sees him. Not that Zuko even knows who Hahn is aside from being a grade-A asshole who’s clearly all ass and no hole—but more so for the fact that someone could ever make Sokka so insecure about himself and his performance in the bedroom.

“Sokka, look at me,” he says, squeezing Sokka’s hands as tightly as he can. “It’s not your fault.”

“Besides, your _ex_ is a _loser_ ,” Zuko continues, because calling Hahn a _lily-livered, lame-ass, lucky-to-have-gone-out-with-you loser_ is a bit too Shakespearean for his tastes. “Especially if he’s telling you that other stuff isn’t important.”

“Huh?”

“Listen to me. Sex is fun! It’s supposed to be—uh—sexy, and noisy and stupid and butterflies-in-your-stomach and—” Zuko trails off, his fingertips tracing spirals into Sokka’s palms, “—forget about what happened before. What matters most is what _you_ like.”

“Oh, okay.” Sokka’s eyes dart back and forth.

“C’mon.” Zuko reassures him. They’re still holding hands, except Sokka isn’t shaking as much as before, no erratic heartbeat thumping through his thumbs. “Tell me what you like.”

“Um…” Sokka’s mouth curves into a slight smile, his face clearly lost in thought. “I like it when—when I can see your face?”

 _There it is_.

“Well then, let’s start there, okay?” Zuko pulls on his hands, leading Sokka back towards the pillows. He shimmies around and eases himself into a more comfortable position, supported by the pillows surrounding him.

“I want you to try again,” Zuko murmurs as he reaches behind Sokka’s head and tugs gently on the hair tie. The ponytail tumbles into a mess of silver curls, hair so soft that Zuko wants nothing more than to run his hands through it for the rest of the day. “But I want you to focus on what feels right.”

He twirls the hair tie around his finger as he leans back, bracing himself for the worst—

—except it never comes.

Sokka blushes as he leans down and presses a kiss to Zuko’s forehead, then one, two more kisses on his eyelids and another on his nose, sending a cascade of something shivering down Zuko’s spine. He’s teasing Zuko now, small touches from his chest, to his stomach, to his thighs, short finger-strokes everywhere except _there_.

When Sokka finally pushes in, Zuko gasps—for real.

“I hope you’re feeling good,” Sokka murmurs into Zuko’s hair when he pulls them close together, strong arms circling Zuko’s back, cradling him like a precious gift. “Because I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing and I hope it’s not a turn-off.”

“It’s great,” Zuko whispers into Sokka’s chest. If anything, he’s actually gets more riled up with each successive moan, breath hitching as Sokka practically plays his body like a piano, fingers riffing some Gershwin rhapsody over his ribs and his waist, light brushes that have Zuko writhing on the bed, one hand clamped over his mouth so he doesn’t scream. It’s a different kind of torture this time, not slow-as-a-sloth but something different, something incredibly unexpected yet welcome.

Zuko’s been so caught up in the moment, his orgasm hits him like a trolley problem—that is, it suddenly collides with him with no warning, a wave of sheer pleasure that overwhelms his senses and drowns out all physical sensation. All he remembers is the feeling of Sokka moving against him, the slightest bit of pain from Sokka’s long fingers twisted in Zuko’s hair as he moves faster and faster, the final push before Zuko finds himself free-falling into euphoria. He has no idea what sort of noises he’s making, only that his mind flutters in space for a few moments before lazily floating down into corporeal reality and back into Sokka’s embrace.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Zuko purrs when he finally catches a breath. He’s refreshed and tired and exhilarated all in one, endorphins still roaring through his head. “ _Mhm_.”

“So,” Sokka mutters when he pulls out, Zuko still nestled in his arms. “How was it? Was it good?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says drily. “I came so hard, I saw the Big Bang.”

“But the Big Bang was over thirteen billion years ago—”

“It’s a metaphor, Sokka. A metaphor.”

Sokka is still frowning.

“Look.” Zuko wiggles out of Sokka’s grasp and props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the ache settling in his hips. “I thought math majors were good at hypotheticals. Like, Jack wouldn’t actually go to the store to buy five hundred watermelons.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. Watermelons are expensive.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Zuko motions for Sokka to come closer, grinning dopily when Sokka clambers towards him. “That was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Zuko hums quietly as he raises a trembling hand to touch Sokka’s cheek. “You’re very sweet.”

Sokka tilts his head, eyes shining. “That’s it? That’s your entire assessment?”

( _Almost forgot that you were doing an assessment, didn’t you_.)

“Oh, no. There’s more to add, obviously,” Zuko remarks. “You know, you’re not half bad.”

In the dim light of the afternoon, he swears he sees Sokka’s shoulders droop.

“No, really! You aren’t,” Zuko continues, his words and his thoughts fumbling in his post-orgasmic haze. “I could teach you a thing or two. But it’s mostly about communication and understanding what you and your partner like and what to do so that both of you feel good together.”

Sokka nods.

“You have promise,” Zuko says. “Think about it like, like—uh, what’s a good analogy—think about it like troubleshooting a computer problem. Figuring out if your problem’s in the hardware or the software, what parts need to be replaced, all that stuff, yeah?”

“That makes sense.”

“And in your case, well—” Zuko scratches at an itch on his arm,”—well, the hardware is completely fine.”

 _It’s just the software that needs a little tinkering_ , he wants to say, but he keeps it to himself.

“Oh! That’s great to hear,” Sokka says, fumbling with his hair. Zuko fumbles around for something on the bed— _gotcha_ —holding out the hair tie between his fingers and handing it to Sokka.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

There’s a cloud of clumsiness floating in the moment above them—and then the sound of someone knocking on the door.

“Sokka?” A voice floats into the room. “Sokka, you home yet?”

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

Zuko yelps as he tumbles onto his back in surprise, struggling to preserve any sense of modesty if the door happens to open. He’s contemplating the physics of climbing out the window and down the side of the apartment when Sokka motions to him, mouthing _get dressed, I’ll distract her_ while he hastily pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and walks to the door, opening it by a hair.

“Suki! You’re home early,” Sokka says, shimmying out the door and closing it behind him. Zuko’s still buckling his belt—his tie is a lost cause—hopping on one foot as he frantically tugs his sock back on. There’s no time to grab the lube or the condoms—Zuko doesn’t know how long Sokka can distract his roommate—his only priority being _get dressed and get out_.

The door opens with barely a squeak (thank Agni), and Zuko ignores the ache in his ass as he performs a gloriously quiet rendition of the shuffle of shame out the bedroom and down the hall. Sokka’s in the living room—Zuko can recognize that nervous shift in his voice—talking to a girl that looks around his age, the two of them sitting side-by-side on the couch.

And without warning, Zuko’s socks perform a betrayal worthy of a place on the _TOP 10 ANIME BETRAYALS_ meme. He swears he sees all twenty-two years of his life flash before his eyes as he goes down, ass first, onto the hardwood floor. He’s definitely going to have a bruise tomorrow, and he rubs his tailbone, cursing quietly when a pair of curious eyes peers down at him.

There’s a girl staring at him, the one from before, her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Who’re you?” she asks, a razor-sharp lilt to her voice.

“I’m—I’m—” and it’s Zuko’s turn to stammer. “I’m—”

“He’s my tutor,” Sokka interjects, holding out a hand and pulling Zuko to his feet. “Zuko, meet Suki. Suki, Zuko.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Zuko says.

“Likewise.” Suki blinks, turning her attention back to Sokka. “A tutor? Really?”

“Yeah, he’s my tutor,” Sokka replies. “He’s tutoring me in, uh—”

“English!” Zuko blurts out.

“Hold on.” The girl doesn’t look convinced. “I thought you were a math major—”

“We just wrapped up our first session today!” Sokka nods frantically as he walks towards the door, one arm wrapped around Zuko’s shoulder. “I was just about to show him out, actually.”

“Uh huh.” Suki rolls her eyes before smiling at Zuko. “Well, I hope he wasn’t a handful. Sokka has a tendency to—”

“And on that note, I’ll talk to you later about scheduling our next session, okay?” Sokka opens the door, a dust of blush across his cheeks.

“Oh, of course.” Zuko bends down, knees screaming as he ties his shoes. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

And as he staggers down the hallway, legs throbbing and lungs burning, Zuko lets out the tiniest of sighs.

 _Sweet Agni, he’ll be the death of me_.


	3. syllabus & guidelines

Saturday afternoon finds Zuko sitting in his bedroom, idly tapping away on his laptop as he fills out some bullshit assignment for whatever random poetry workshop he had signed up for this semester. Granted, he hasn’t really been paying attention to what they’re learning in class—something about jellyfish and free verse, but who knows?—but he finishes his assignment anyways, sending his document through the requisite Canvas hoops for submission. There’s another reading assignment for his medical ethics class and a random discussion post for his anthropological birdsong class, not to mention a couple weeks’ worth of peer reviews he has to catch up on for his capstone seminar—

It’s a lot of work for a college senior, but Zuko’s up for literally anything at this point.

Anything, really, to get his mind off of the lingering elephant in the room trying desperately to get his attention. _Sokka_ , it trumpets loudly in Zuko’s ears. _Sokka. Teaching._

_Pleasure_.

( _Oh, shut up_.)

Zuko has come to the uncomfortable realization that he has, unfortunately, dug himself into quite the hole with no back door out, the hole being Zuko’s promise to teach Sokka about communication and understanding with his partner in the bedroom, something that he himself isn’t particularly great at. There’s absolutely no one who’ll save him from this.

(And no. Jet would probably just laugh at him and take a picture as proof before leaving him in there.)

Most people would probably describe Zuko’s personality as fiery—volatile, especially when exam season rolls around—how he has a tendency to oscillate between _give-me-wine-and-I’ll-tell-you-my-entire-life-story-right-now_ and _I’m-a-frigid-bastard-when-I’m-sober_ (all depending on the kind of alcohol, of course), a blazing bonfire one moment and a candle-flicker the next. It probably doesn’t help that Zuko’s always been a bit constipated as far as the emotional department is concerned, occasionally lashing out at others and struggling to express what he actually wants.

(This—this might have played a role in why Ruon-Jian didn’t work out.)

(Or maybe it was just Ruon-Jian himself. That jackass.)

Sokka hasn’t texted Zuko after their first ~~encounter~~ assessment, and Zuko desperately hopes that he didn’t say anything to scare Sokka away. Besides the laughing—Zuko shudders at the thought—everything else had gone well, even up until he had almost been caught by Sokka’s roommate as he made his quick escape.

(Didn’t Sokka say something about texting him later?)

Zuko finds himself lost in the sea of text messages on his phone in between study sessions and meals, frustration nibbling at his patience when no new alerts pop up. Zuko distinctly remembers Sokka saying something about scheduling the next session, and when he doesn’t hear back from him—the nibbling becomes a gnawing as his tolerance wears thin.

Did he remember it wrong? He’s almost certain that Sokka said _he_ would reach out to Zuko—

_Ping_.

A notification pops up.

Zuko can’t tap fast enough.

_Speak of the spirit and he shall appear_.

══════════════════  
 **SOKKA**

Hi   
Hi   
Sflr   
Um uh   
COuld we schedule 4 sometime   
Next week?   
:)

══════════════════

_A fucking smiley emoticon_.

Zuko hates how that little sideways face makes his chest clench just so.

He also hates how he’s hit with the reminder that he has yet to prepare anything for their next session.

_Oh, fuck_.

══════════════════  
 **妹妹**

Az.   
Az, I need your help.   
Please.

yeah?   
what do you need from me   
i don’t have money rn   
you still owe me for dinner last wk btw

What the fuck.   
No, Az.   
I’ll pay you later, okay?   
… I just need your help right now.

well SOMEONE’S not being straightforward   
stop vagueing

Um.   
Could you just come over?

what did i say abt vagueing

…

yeesh   
that bad?   
ya sure   
gimme like   
20   
need anything?   
druk need anything?

I just fed him today.

DAMN fuck   
i wanted to feed him   
fml   
fine   
i’m omw

══════════════════

Twenty minutes in Azula-time is anywhere from half an hour to an hour.

At least, that’s Zuko’s best estimate, after years of experience in dealing with Azula. He tosses his phone on his bed and leans back in his desk chair, stretching his arms behind his head. The mild pain around his waist sends a twinge up his chest when he twists around in his seat, and Zuko inwardly curses at himself. It’s been two days since—well, the _consultation_ , or however you want to call it—and he's still feeling the (pleasant) aftereffects.

Emphasis on the pleasant.

There’s a lingering ache that settles around his waist, right beneath his ribcage, stinging smartly whenever he goes to sit down— _oh, fuck_ —and Zuko remembers everything.

Sokka, eyes wide, scrambling backwards when Zuko had conjured up the image of the Zootopia sloth and started laughing.

Sokka, hair down, babbling to himself as he had taken Zuko over the edge—and what an edge it was, all free-falling as the two of them collapsed on Sokka’s bed in a shower of sparks.

—Sokka, who really, _really_ needs to get over that infuriatingly annoying ex of his, because how dare—how dare, whatever his name is—oh, Hahn—how dare this _Hahn_ —whatever pit he probably crawled out of—refuse to communicate, not bothering to tell Sokka what’s good and what’s not during a _physically intimate encounter?_

( _He probably just lay there like a dead fish_. Zuko spits that thought from his mind like a nagging piece of spinach caught between his teeth.)

Now that Zuko thinks about it, there really isn’t anything wrong with Sokka or his technique (or lack thereof). Sure, Sokka’s a bit rough around the edges, a mixture of too-enthusiastic and too-worried that could potentially spell a recipe for disaster, but that isn’t anything a bit of guided practice and homework can’t solve.

Zuko rubs his chest in confusion, his heart fluttering uncomfortably at the thought. He stands up and hobbles towards the kitchen, looking for something to drink (on second thought, he should’ve told Azula to bring some boba). The fridge is fairly empty, and Zuko settles on a can of ginger ale before popping it open and pouring the soda into a cup. He wanders towards the living room, placing the cup on the table before walking towards the monstrously huge enclosure in the corner.

A few taps on the side, and Zuko smiles when a pair of beady amber eyes peeks out from behind a dead log.

“C’mon,” Zuko whispers. “C’mon.”

His smile curves into a grin when a head pokes out from the artificial underbrush and a skink ambles out, bumbling its way to the edge of the enclosure and booping its snout against the surface. The skink hisses quietly, bright blue tongue flicking in and out of its mouth as it scents the air. It doesn’t flinch, not even when Zuko removes the screen-top and picks it up in his hands, cradling it on his left arm.

“ _Drukie boy_ ,” Zuko murmurs quietly before he slaps his free hand over his mouth. Agni only knows how Azula would poke fun at him for baby-speaking to his lizard.

Druk squeaks.

Zuko’s heart calms ever-so-slightly as he settles down on the couch, Druk crawling down from his arm to his chest, tiny lizard claws digging into Zuko’s shirt. The blue-tongued skink had been an accident—a surprise, actually—from Azula a few years ago. Zuko remembers how he had gotten trashed one night after finals and texted his sister about getting drain cleaner because Jet had done _something_ to the kitchen sink and now nothing was working—

—and Azula, in her infinite wisdom (and a mild case of dyslexia), had shown up to his apartment with a Rubbermaid tub punched with air holes and a tiny skink, barely longer than Zuko’s pinky finger.

“I said _sink_ , not _skink_.” Zuko had glared at his sister, but the (emotional) damage was already done. The skink—now named Druk because of Zuko's atrocious grasp of spelling while drunk—proceeded to wreak havoc on what little remained of Zuko’s precarious schedule, a small, whiny thing that refused to try live crickets in favor of _mealworms_ —Zuko shudders at the thought—and loved being in the spotlight wherever Zuko’s friends came to visit. (Jet even had the audacity to fall in love with the damn thing and carried it all around the apartment on his shoulder, a new accessory to compliment the perpetual pen in his mouth.) In return, it—no, _he_ —gave Zuko absolutely nothing except for a sense of pride when he came home from classes and realized that Druk hadn’t escaped.

_It’s the little things that count_.

Said skink is now wobbling up and down Zuko’s chest as Zuko slouches down, the thick cotton of his hoodie providing the perfect support for Druk’s body as the skink latches on with the tiniest of claws. Druk crawls towards the crevice of Zuko’s collarbone and settles down, a small, cold blip floating right below Zuko’s neck.

“How’re you doing?” Zuko scritches Druk on the head. “Having fun?”

Druk’s only response is to burrow even deeper into the warm confines of Zuko’s hoodie, tail thumping against Zuko’s shoulder.

(Oh, and the fact that Druk’s presence is calming probably doesn’t hurt, either. Just a guy and his emotional skink, nothing to see here.)

══════════════════

Zuko’s practically half-asleep when a loud bang startles him from his almost-nap, followed by a series of brisk thumps against his front door.

_Thirty-five minutes_. Zuko manages to pull himself from the temptation of the warm couch, Druk clutching his shoulder. _Not bad_.

Azula barges in through his front door when he opens it, her backpack slung over her shoulder and a plastic bag dangling from her hands.

“Figured you might want this,” she says without preamble, dropping the bag in Zuko’s hands and releasing a puff of fragrant steam of salt and pepper in the air. “And yeah, it’s fresh. Also why I was late.”

“There’s boba in my backpack, too,” Azula continues as she pulls off her shoes, face brightening at the skink perched on Zuko’s shoulder. “And how’s my baby boy doing?”

Druk snorts.

“I think he knew you were coming today.” Zuko leans down so Azula can reach for the skink on his shoulder. “He’s happy to see you.”

“I missed you so much!” Azula chuckles quietly as she pulls Druk into her arms, the skink scrambling into her elbow for warmth. “You should’ve told me that you fed him yesterday. I would’ve come over.”

“Didn’t you have an econ test?” Zuko walks into the kitchen and pulls out a plate, retrieving an oil-speckled container from the plastic bag and opening it, pouring out a generous portion of Taiwanese popcorn chicken, each nugget dusted with red pepper. He shakes a few toothpicks free from their container and brings the entire thing over to the living room, only to see Azula pulling out two cups of boba and setting them on the coffee table, Druk still securely contained in the crook of her arm.

“Yeah, but I finished early.” Azula twirls a plastic straw around her fingers before puncturing her cup with deadly precision. Druk looks up at her, tail twitching in alarm. “Anyways, what did you want to talk about?”

Zuko gingerly sits down on the couch, ignoring the persistent throbbing plaguing his body. He picks up the unopened cup and shakes it slightly. “It’s—it’s, uh. Complicated.”

“It’s that Wang Fire guy, isn’t it?” Azula takes a sip of her boba.

Dumbfounded, Zuko drops his cup on the table. _How did she—?_

“How did I know about Wang Fire?” Azula smirks. “So I might’ve happened to bump into Jet on my way here—”

A wave of mortification engulfs Zuko.

“Relax, Zuzu.” Azula reaches over and pats him on the shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad. Aside from the fake moustache part. Jet told me he got out of there so you two could have some quality time together.”

“ _That’s_ what he said?” Zuko has the distinctly uncomfortable memory of Jet abandoning him at The Jasmine Dragon permanently seared into his amygdala for years to come.

“Well, he said you two seemed like you were getting along when he left.” Azula shrugs nonchalantly, placing her boba on the table and reaching for a toothpick.

She skewers a piece of popcorn chicken and waves it in Zuko’s general direction. “And judging by that, I’m assuming the consultation went well.”

It’s one thing to joke about your sex life. It’s a whole other thing when your younger sister’s the one doing the joking. Zuko hunches over, waiting for a multidimensional hole to open at his feet and sweep him away from the humiliation of being perceived.

“—zu? Zuzu?” Someone’s waving something in his face, and Zuko looks up to see Druk swinging back and forth in his vision. “Earth to Zuzu?”

“What,” Zuko croaks.

“You’ve done it again, my baby boy.” Azula coos at the skink in her hands. She settles back down on the couch and crosses her arms, Druk scrambling towards her shoulder. “So. You need my advice about your consultation.”

“More like moral support?” Zuko scratches his head. “But advice would be nice.”

“Advice on what? On what to do next?”

“Pretty much.”

“Bold of you to assume I have any advice for you.” Azula scritches Druk’s head gently. “Especially considering how, like, I have literally zero interest in that sort of stuff.”

“Point taken,” Zuko concedes. After all, his sister’s a self-proclaimed Hydroflask-toting, suit-wearing, power-walking business lesbian—emphasis on the Hydroflask.

“Why didn’t you ask one of your friends? Or Jet?”

“Uh—” _Because you were the only person I could think of_ , Zuko wants to say, because asking Mai would’ve been too embarrassing and asking Jet—well, that was just a social disaster waiting to happen. Asking his sister—that comes with its own problems, but it’s nothing compared to the inevitable explosion of the gossip grapevine if he ended up going to Jet for advice. “Uh, I—I just didn’t.”

Azula tsks. “I don’t know how to help you, Zuzu. Besides, aren’t you the one teaching him? You should figure out what to do next.”

“But where do I start?”

It’s only by the grace of Agni—and the fact that Druk is performing lizard stretches on her shoulder—that Azula doesn’t burst into flames from irritation right about now, especially since she’s definitely the more temperamental of the two Huo siblings. “You could start by—by—by, I don’t know!” She shrugs in frustration. “You’re the academic one, aren’t you? Go do research or something.”

“Research?”

“Yes, _research_. Outline a plan. Create a schedule, something like that. I don’t know how else to help.” With that tone, it’s almost like Azula’s placating a petulant preteen, not dealing with her older brother. “I’m a business major. That’s all I got for you.”

“I could do that, I think,” Zuko says, the words wobbling cautiously in the air, emphasis on _I think_ , because truth be told, Zuko—Zuko’s not exactly sure where to go from here.

Books, perhaps. Books might do the trick.

══════════════════

The bell above the door of Wan Shi’s Tomes jingles merrily, announcing Zuko’s arrival into the bookstore amidst a gust of autumn leaves and chilly wind. He steps through the doorway, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.

It’s not the best disguise, Zuko admits—the scarf quickly soaks up heat from the warmth inside the bookstore and practically suffocates him in the smell of camphor from the closet of some long-past Huo elder—but it does the trick, concealing him in relative anonymity.

Zuko hasn’t been in Wan Shi’s Tomes for a hot second—the last time he came in was probably sometime during sophomore year when he actually went in to buy course packs for his classes—and the bookstore is as tiny as he remembers, a hubbub of chatter as the usual customers go about their business, interspersed with the occasional undergrad milling about in the coffeeshop area in between their classes. The shelves are high but the ceilings are low, and Zuko finds himself ducking as he makes his way towards the back of the store, towards a section he never even dreamed of ever stepping into until this day.

The romance section.

It looms over him in all its glory, a set of two shelves concealed in the back of Wan Shi’s Tomes, all shadowy and dark, away from prying eyes. This part of the shop reminds Zuko of the stereotypical bookshelf trysts and hidden kisses that romance writers like to write about—and, well. Coincidence?

Sighing, Zuko squats down and pokes listlessly at the forest of book spines in front of him. There just aren’t that many good romance novels these days—not that Zuko hasn’t already had his fill of Austen and the Brontë sisters—and Zuko wrinkles his nose as he pulls out paperback after paperback of raunchy romance books, wincing at the half-naked people decorating the gaudy covers. These books—if one could even call them _books_ —these books look absolutely lurid, just like those trashy three-dollar romance novels Azula likes to read in secret, the ones she secretly buys at the airport

(Zuko can already hear his sister’s voice ringing in his head, asking him if he was really in the position to be judging her taste in literature when he’s literally using these books as “resources”.)

( _Point taken_ , he concedes towards head-thought Azula. _Point taken_.)

Unfortunately, the romance section doesn’t seem to be of much help. Between reading book summaries and skimming through the books themselves, Zuko’s practically losing what few brain cells he has left to the wave of steamy and torrid love affairs romance authors seem to conjure up from nowhere these days. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take without breaking down in the middle of the mom-and-pop bookstore. _Teaching someone shouldn’t be this hard_ , Zuko seethes as he gathers up a few books with the tamest-looking covers and then blindly picks two at random, quickly shoving the rest on the shelf before he stands up, legs cramping at the sudden movement. The books go under his arm as he exits the romance section and walks towards the register, vowing never to step foot in the back of the store again.

It’s just pure, dumb luck that Zuko recognizes the cashier.

Or rather, the cashier recognizes him first.

“I heard about your date,” Haru says as he watches Zuko fumble with the two books onto the counter. (Because the universe is out to get him, and getting Jet’s boyfriend involved in the whole messy thing is just the cherry on top of Zuko’s chaotic sundae.)

“Hey, Haru.” Zuko pushes up his sunglasses on his forehead.

(Agni only knows how many people Jet has told about his “date” at this point—Zuko has no idea how far along the gossip grapevine this invaluable piece of information has gone.)

“What brings you to our shop today?”

“Uh—” Zuko distracts himself by pulling out his wallet. “Uh—hm. Getting a birthday present for my sister.”

“A birthday present, yeah?” Haru scans the first book and places it back on the counter. “Want me to wrap them up?”

“Nah.”

“Didn’t know that your sister was into this kind of stuff,” Haru drawls, picking up the second book and skimming the cover, nose twitching in distaste. “ _Romancing the River Clan_? My coworker read this the other day. Said it was okay. Kinda boring, though.”

“ _Please_.” Zuko turns red, and it’s not from the scarf around his neck. “So are you going to finish ringing me up or not?”

“Of course.” Haru rolls his eyes as he scans the second book. “Y’know, if you ever need ideas on dates—”

“It wasn’t a date,” Zuko retorts. “It was a _consultation_.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I’m an idiot.” Haru blinks impassively as he stacks the second book atop the first. “That’ll be 24.69.”

Zuko pulls out a card. “No friend discount?”

“You’re a friend of a friend.” Haru motions towards the pinpad. “You can swipe here.”

“Wow, I see I’ve been downgraded.”

Haru shrugs. “You were never upgraded in the first place.”

“Yikes.” Zuko signs his signature with a flourish. With that attitude—Jet must be rubbing off on his boyfriend in more ways than one. He stuffs the books into his backpack with a huff, adjusting his sunglasses before muttering a goodbye to Haru and heading towards the door.

“We hope to see you soon!” Haru calls behind him, voice chipper.

Zuko just shakes his head in amusement as he leaves the shop.

══════════════════

Haru’s right.

(Not about the _friend-of-a-friend_ thing. About the romance novels thing.)

Zuko tosses _Romancing the River Clan_ onto the other side of his couch and flops down in defeat. He’s spent the past few hours poring over both books he bought today, trying to glean any bit of knowledge about romance or seductive techniques to no avail. He’s even gone on his laptop and downloaded digital copies of _Jane Eyre_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ —but no dice.

( _How did I enjoy this in high school?_ Zuko bemoans as he closes out of _Jane Eyre_ , head reeling at all the plot twists. He can’t fathom how he used to read five hundred pages _for fun_. Clearly, university has taken its toll on his reading capabilities.)

And apparently, all romance novels contain the universal themes of pining, jealousy, and miscommunication—things that are basically the antithesis of what Zuko needs. The classic romance novels are a bit on the archaic side with their wooing and their courtship. The contemporary romance novels aren’t much better—the sex scenes are just a bit too gratuitous for Zuko’s sensibilities—and he’s certain that they won’t be of much help when it comes to teaching Sokka.

Sokka—now that guy wouldn’t stand a chance if it came to romance-novel-wooing techniques. He’s too bashful, too embarrassed for his own good, not to mention the fact that he’s not the most assertive when it comes to the romance department. All the convoluted love relationships and misunderstandings in these books—Sokka deserves better than this. He deserves to have a great relationship—

( _Woah there_. _Slow down_. Zuko’s brain cell holds up a tiny stop sign. _Aren’t you just here to help him with his technique?_ )

_Oi, shut up_. Zuko shakes his head, dispersing the stop sign and sending his brain cell scattering somewhere else. He’s just here to give Sokka a small nudge in the right direction—starting with a few pointers, of course.

_SYLLABUS_ , Zuko opens his laptop and types in all caps on his TextEdit program.

Now comes the difficult part: _what_ to teach Sokka.

_Maybe I should just use myself as a litmus_ , Zuko muses as he idly formats a table. _What do I like?_

══════════════════  
 **SOKKA**

Hey there.   
I apologize for the late response.   
I’m free Tuesday/Thursday afternoons this week.   
Do you have a time in mind?

Hey   
I’m good either way   
Let’s do tues?   
Jasmine dragon good?

Oh, sure.   
Yes, Tuesday works for me.   
And Jasmine Dragon is a great place.

Aight aight   
Yeah   
Ikr??  
I like their drinks a lot

Have you tried their egg waffles before?

What?   
Egg waffle   
What is that

You’ll see.

Oh sweet   
Can’t wait   
:)

══════════════════

Zuko makes up his mind to murder whoever created the dastardly smiley face in the first place.

_Now let’s see. What should the first lesson be?_

══════════════════

The weekend comes and goes in the blink of an eye, and before Zuko knows it, he’s back in The Jasmine Dragon. He’s gone for a fruit tea this time, slices of orange and lemon blended with passionfruit and honey, sour and sweet. There’s a plate of egg waffles on the table in front of him, hot and piping-fresh from the pan with tiny cubes of mochi and fresh strawberry tucked inside the pocket, a drizzle of chocolate syrup rounding out the entire treat with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Sokka shows up a few minutes later, walking towards Zuko and propping his skateboard against the wall, running a hand through his curly hair before sitting down on the edge of his seat, freckles disappearing in the haze of pink on his cheeks.

“Hiya,” Sokka says sheepishly.

Zuko catches himself from swooning. “How’re you doing?”

“Uh, I’m doing good.” Sokka twiddles his thumbs. “How ‘bout you?”

“Me? I’m fine.” _My heart isn’t_. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

Awkward silence makes yet another appearance before Sokka points towards the egg waffle. “Is that the thing you were telling me about? The waffle?”

“Waffle?” Zuko’s eyes dart around as he searches for— _oh, it’s right in front of me_. “Oh, yeah. This is the waffle I was talking about. Do you want to try it?”

Sokka’s eyes light up. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.” Zuko motions towards the plate. “Go for it.”

He watches as Sokka cuts delicately through the waffle, the smell of warm butter and fresh fruit in the air. Sokka’s precise, knife slicing through the crackling waffle as he retrieves a small piece and piles on a bit of mochi and strawberry before eating the entire thing in one bite. Zuko smiles at the look of utter amazement on Sokka’s face, someone discovering a delicacy for the first time in their life.

“— _so good_ ,” Sokka manages to say after he’s swallowed his first bite. “I can’t believe I’ve missed out on this.”

“It’s one of their specialities here,” Zuko replies. “I’m glad that you like it.”

He pauses, reaching down into his backpack and pulling out a sheet of neatly-folded paper and handing it to Sokka.

Sokka looks confused. “What’s this?”

“A—” _Damn, what’s the word again?_ “—it’s a schedule of sorts,” Zuko continues, folding his arms over his chest and trying desperately to calm his heart from beating like crazy. “It’s not a strict timeline or anything, and feel free to tell me if there’s other things you want to explore outside of the things I wrote on the list.”

It’s Sokka’s turn to rummage through his things, pulling out a pair of glasses and putting them on, eyes squinting slightly as unfolds and looks over the paper. Zuko has the distinct feeling of being scrutinized— _fuck, I hope I wasn’t too forward_ —and he’s sure that the list hadn’t been _too_ risqué, especially considering how he had tailored it to his own, decidedly vanilla tastes.

After what seems like a millennia—not that Zuko’s counting down to the millisecond or anything—Sokka finally looks up, cornflower blue staring straight into Zuko’s very soul.

“I—I, uh. I mean, it looks good?” His voice is hesitant. “Thanks for putting this all together for me, Zuko.”

“I’m—that’s great.” Zuko catches himself from stuttering. “I mean, if you have any other questions, you can always text me about them and I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

( _I’m just tutoring him, I’m just tutoring him_ , he repeats futilely in his mind.)

“Nice, nice.” Sokka folds the paper back up into a neat square before taking another bite of the egg waffle.

The dull roar of The Jasmine Dragon falls over their table, Sokka cutting up the egg waffle, Zuko taking sips of his fruit tea. It’s so awkward—much worse than the office hours or any recruiting seminar Zuko’s ever sat in—but he waits, mostly to finish his tea, but also because he hates being the one leaving the meeting first.

“Uh, so.” Sokka says after a while, knee bouncing up and down. “Um. Uh. When are you free?”

“Free?”

“For our—I mean, my next session. The—uh—” Sokka scratches his nose. “—the _kissing_ one?”

Zuko raises his eyebrows.

Sokka continues babbling. “Like, what time works for you. And stuff. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

( _You’re not taking up too much of my time_.)

“I’m free Thursday afternoon,” Zuko says, mentally going through his schedule in his head. “Anytime after three works for me.”

“We could go to your place, if you want,” he adds, figuring that Sokka would probably be more comfortable in his bedroom—

—or maybe not, judging by the look on Sokka’s face, face paling, like Zuko’s just unlocked Pandora’s box filled with residual memories of _the-ex-who-shall-not-be-named_.

“Or you can come over. My place, I mean.” Zuko waves his hand, trying desperately to dispel the sudden tension in the air. “That also works for me.”

“Oh, yeah—that’s great, actually!” Sokka replies, pulling out his phone and tapping away. “So, uh. Thursday at three?”

“I’ll send you my address later.” Zuko nods. “See you on Thursday then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

_Fuck, that was the most awkward hour of my life I’ll never get back._

══════════════════

Zuko has no idea why he’s so nervous, but he definitely doesn’t get enough sleep on Wednesday night, his dreams plagued by visions of a gray-haired, blue-eyed _someone_ clouding his thoughts. He’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, waking up in a sheen of cold sweat and his comforter hanging off the bed by a thread.

Horrible sleep leads to horrible exhaustion, and by the time Zuko makes it to FILM 482, he’s on the brink of delirium while sitting in Professor Wu’s class, notebook open, scribbling notes as the professor drones on and on about the different movements within the scifi genre as a whole.

“Your task this week is to watch Ridley Scott’s _Alien_.” The professor adjusts her spectacles as she writes out the assignment on the blackboard in neat cursive, chalk dust floating in the air. “We’ll be discussing elements of the monstrous feminine next class, and I want each and every one of you to write out a one-page response on your impressions of the film and how it subverts gender dynamics.”

Jet raises his hand.

“And before anyone asks, I would like it to be single-spaced.”

Jet lowers his hand.

Zuko jots down the assignment into his notebook, looking over the rest of his classmates until his gaze settles on one in particular.

That feeling—the weird and woozy one—that feeling’s back in full-force, causing his heart to jump erratically at the thought of _oh shit, I’m seeing him after class today_.

From this distance, Sokka’s glasses catch the light, a shining sliver that is entirely too distracting. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail today, sleek and silky—Zuko’s mind wanders into dangerous territory as memories of Sokka’s fluffy hair and shining eyes invade his thoughts. Zuko can almost feel Sokka’s hair in between his fingers as he leans down to kiss—

—and he finds himself staring straight into Sokka’s unflinching gaze.

_Don’t forget, you’re meeting with him today_.

Heat singes the back of Zuko’s neck as he breaks away from the awkward eye contact, dropping his gaze back to his notes, now haphazardly written and dangling from the lines in his notebook. There’s a splotch of ink next to the assignment—Zuko must’ve been pressing his pen into the paper a bit too hard—and he glances around to see if anyone else witnessed his slip-up.

Mai rolls her eyes.

_Busted_.

“Any questions?” Professor Wu peers over her spectacles. “No? Then class is dismissed. I’ll see you all next week.”

Noise erupts in the seminar room as everyone scrambles to pack up their things, Zuko closing his notebook and tossing his pen into the depths of his pencil case.

“Want to tell me why you were making puppy eyes at Qanik?” Mai shrugs on her jacket.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zuko replies, even though he’s still watching out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if Sokka will come up to talk to him—but the math major’s already disappeared out the door.

“Yeah right, Captain Obvious.” Mai rolls her eyes. “C’mon. You can tell me all about it after I get my salmon teriyaki bowl.”

They end up sitting at a side table in the dining hall, Mai with her salmon teriyaki and Zuko with an order of chicken yakisoba at his chopstick-tips.

“So. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Mai cuts through her salmon with a practiced hand.

Zuko’s suddenly _very_ interested in the yakisoba before him.

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just tell you what Jet told me—”

“Okay, _okay_.” Zuko raises his hands in defeat, chopsticks clattering on the table. “I’ll tell you anything as long as you don’t believe whatever bullshit Jet told you.”

“Deal.”

So Zuko tells her the entire story, starting with that disastrous mahjong night and ending with his recent trip to Wan Shi’s Tomes and the miniature crisis he had over _what_ he was supposed to teach Sokka. He skips a few details—the actual first consultation with Sokka, for one—hoping that Mai isn’t judging him. She’s one of his best friends and one of the few people who can actually talk Zuko out of making any impulsive decisions as far as his personal life is concerned.

“—and I’m seeing him _today_.” Zuko gulps down his water when he finishes, throat parched from the entire ordeal. There’s an entire mountain of worry lifted from his chest, and he can finally breathe.

Mai just blinks impassively, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise. She’s not losing her mind (like Jet) or pestering him with questions (like everyone else he’s told)—but again, that’s Mai for you.

“That’s quite the story,” she says, scraping down the sides of her bowl with her chopsticks. “So now what?”

Zuko gawks at her.

“Well, it obviously sounds like you have some sort of plan, right?” Mai wipes her lips with a napkin. “Meeting up with him and everything.”

“But I’m still, like—” Zuko’s scar itches, “—like, am I overthinking this?”

“You are.”

Zuko sighs miserably.

“Look.” Mai pats his hand. “You’re going to be fine. Just relax. Deep breaths, okay?”

“Yeah.” Zuko can’t even muster a feeble smile on his face. “Yeah.”

Unease prickles in his mind as he leaves his last class, taking the long way back to his apartment and stopping by the conbini for some snacks and drinks. If Zuko’s going to do this—well, he might as well play the part of a gracious host.

( _And cleaning_ , his brain cell reminds him. _Don’t forget to make sure your apartment’s tidy_.)

_Fuck_.

══════════════════

Zuko’s just about done fluffing the pillows on his couch when the doorbell rings.

“Be right there,” he calls out, setting the last pillow in place before brushing down the front of his shirt. Zuko hadn’t had a lot of time to change, throwing on a dress shirt and nice pants before haphazardly tying the entire ensemble together with a random tie he dug out of his closet. He’s managed to clean up the rest of the apartment—mostly dealing with the huge stack of mail accumulating on his coffee table and the mountain of plastic take-out containers on the counter that he should’ve put away ages ago.

Druk scratches petulantly against his enclosure, probably waiting for Zuko to play with him.

“Sorry, bud.” Zuko waves at his skink. “I’ll play with you later, okay?”

He does one last once-over before walking to the door and turning the handle.

Zuko opens his front door to a faceful of cacti.

(Well, a single cactus, small and round and prickly and—is it _quivering?_ )

He follows the cactus down to its terracotta pot, then up, up, into Sokka’s blushing face.

“ _Sukitoldmetobringthis_ —” the words rush out of Sokka’s mouth. He thrusts the cactus in Zuko’s face, freckles glimmering against his cheeks. “ _ItwastheonlyoneleftIswearwhydoesn’tTraderJoe’ssellmorestuff_.”

Honestly, Zuko’s equally flattered and bewildered, taking the pot in his hands before ushering Sokka inside his apartment.

“Suki asked me where I was going today,” Sokka says as he leans his skateboard against the foyer wall. “So, uh. I panicked.”

“And then she told me that ‘ _if you’re visiting a friend’s house for the first time, you have to remember to bring a gift, Sokka!_ ’” Sokka punctuates this last bit with air quotes. “And I saw this cactus in Trader Joe’s, so—”

He gestures vaguely towards the pot on the counter with a flourish.

Over the years, Zuko’s had his fair share of cut flowers and candles from friends and family—but this is the first time someone’s brought him a living thing. (Besides Druk, of course.) He can almost picture Sokka scrambling into Trader Joe’s, barging around the aisles until he circles back to the front of the shop and sets his eyes on a _fucking cactus_ , of all things, as the perfect gift.

“Thank you for the cactus,” Zuko says quietly, smiling at Sokka before gesturing towards the couch. “Do you want to take a seat? We can get started with today’s lesson.”

_Kissing should be relatively straightforward, right?_

══════════════════

As it turns out, kissing isn’t as straightforward as Zuko thought it would be.

For one, Sokka’s extremely nervous, if his darting eyes and shaking knees are any indication. There’s a frenetic sort of energy in the air, tension winding up as Sokka tries to make himself comfortable on Zuko’s couch, shifting every which way.

“Sokka?” Zuko comes around the couch and sits down, inwardly wincing when Sokka almost jumps into the air. “Are you okay?”

“Oh! Me?” Sokka points to himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Peachy. Fit as a flounder.”

(The last part doesn’t really make sense, but Zuko takes his word for it.)

“Well then.” Zuko claps his hands. “Let’s get started. Kiss me.”

“ _Huh?_ ”

“Kiss me, Sokka,” Zuko says, voice cracking when he utters Sokka’s name.

“Uh—okay.” Sokka’s voice wobbles as he takes off his glasses and places them on the coffee table next to them. He leans forward, holds Zuko’s chin with an unsteady hand, and kisses him.

_Oh spirits, his teeth_ —and it’s like their first kiss all over again, teeth against gum against teeth, sparks dancing on contact. Sokka’s just as clumsy as the first time but he’s definitely holding back, some invisible distance between the two of them that Zuko can’t quite seem to breach, no matter how much space he gives Sokka.

Sokka’s arm snakes around Zuko’s waist and pulls him closer—

—and that’s when the two of them break apart in a duet of harsh breaths, Zuko panting slightly as he wills himself to stay relaxed.

“Kissing—kissing’s a very personal thing,” Zuko says. “It helps build intimacy between you and your partner, right?”

“Everyone’s going to have their preferences,” he continues. “Some people like slow, deep kisses. Other people might prefer heavy, swift kissing. Cheek kisses. Forehead kisses. All of these kisses can help to build the mood you want.”

“Then what do _you_ like?”

In hindsight, Zuko should’ve seen this question coming from a mile away, but it still catches him off guard.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Sokka taps his foot nervously on the floor. “What kinda kissing do you like?”

Honestly—now that he thinks about it—Zuko doesn’t actually know what kind of kissing he likes. In the past, he and Mai didn’t kiss as much as they cuddled, and when it came to Ruon-Jian—well, Zuko had just let him take the lead.

“Um—” Zuko begins, trailing off as he tries to imagine his perfect kiss. “Uh—probably something slow and soft? Gentle?”

( _Tender_ pops up in his mind but he shuffles it away. Now _that’s_ definitely hitting a little too close to Zuko’s innermost desires.)

“I mean, like, if you’re okay with it—” Sokka scratches his ponytail. “Could we try again?”

“Of course,” Zuko replies, yelping slightly when Sokka pulls him in for another kiss.

Sokka’s gentle this time—maybe a little _too_ gentle, considering how he keeps trying to pull back every time Zuko pushes forward slightly, coaxing him to deepen the kiss. Frustration mounts, and Zuko’s nearly at his wit’s end when Sokka bites down on his lip.

Zuko freezes.

_Ouch_.

Sokka seems to realize it, too, how Zuko goes completely motionless. He pulls back, eyes widening, and Zuko knows he has to stop Sokka before Sokka launches himself into another downward spiral.

“Let’s try a simple exercise, shall we?”

Zuko reaches into his pocket and pulls out a candy, green and sparkling in the dim light of the living room. He tears the wrapper open, revealing the jade sweet inside, slightly sticky in the warm room as he picks up the candy and hands it to Sokka.

_Crunch_.

“Sokka, you’re not supposed to eat it,” Zuko chastises, chuckling when he sees the guilty look on Sokka’s face, wide-eyed and blush-bloomed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Zuko fishes out another foil-wrapped candy and opens it. “Now hold it between your teeth this time. No biting,” he says, rolling the candy in between his fingertips before placing it in Sokka’s mouth.

And Sokka’s staring at him, cornflower blue-confusion in his eyes as he furrows his eyebrows in concentration.

“Good, good.” Zuko leans forward, cupping Sokka’s chin in his hand and tilting it ever so slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Sokka’s lips taste like guava.

His mouth, too, warm and sweet and soft as Zuko takes his time savoring the moment. There’s a hint of mint tickling on the edges of his teeth, something soothing that mingles with the tropical fruit like a sudden rainstorm, urging Zuko to go farther, faster, fiercer. He closes his eyes and breathes. Sokka smells like a sunlit forest waiting for sunset, rich cedar soaking up the last of the rays before night comes.

Zuko can feel Sokka leaning back, can feel him tensing up against the kiss and going completely still, so he withdraws, waiting for Sokka to make the next move.

It never comes.

Zuko opens his eyes and blinks slowly when he realizes how Sokka’s faltering, how his eyelids flutter as he struggles to stay calm through the kiss. He looks so worried that Zuko almost laughs, except he’s too occupied to do anything aside from rolling his eyes in disbelief.

_The things I do for him_ , and Zuko’s pushing forward again, this time searching—

—biting gently on Sokka’s bottom lip _just_ so, teeth grazing against soft skin, barely chapped—

_Gotcha_.

The lightbulb explodes.

There’s a yelp and a groan, Sokka breaking away from the kiss, eyes blazing as he focuses his gaze on Zuko and dives in for a kiss, a kiss so searing, Zuko feels himself burning from the inside. Sokka’s determined, his teeth running along Zuko’s skin as he nibbles Zuko’s kiss-swollen lips over and over, pinpricks of pain teasing along Zuko’s nerves _just like that_. He takes his time mapping out every part of Zuko’s mouth with his tongue—never pushing, always taking the time for Zuko to adjust before moving on, bit by bit until Zuko’s entire body is quivering, knees shaking, toes curling as he endures the most torturously wonderful kiss he’s ever experienced in his life.

Mapping gives way to exploring. Zuko finds himself leaning backwards, a warm hand steady on his back when Sokka takes control, charting a path into pleasure that ends with both of them lying on the couch, Zuko on his back and Sokka on top of him, still kissing as if it’s the only thing keeping both of them tethered to reality. Zuko braces his hand against Sokka’s chest, gasping when he feels Sokka’s heart beating frantically against his chest, the rhythm rippling into Zuko’s fingertips.

Sokka’s tongue brushes against his, and Zuko sees stars.

Everything is sweet and heady as the guava candy disappears and it’s just him and Sokka, alone. _He’s getting better_ —that’s Zuko’s last coherent thought before he’s swept away, hands reaching up and carding through Sokka’s hair as he loses himself in utter bliss.

Zuko has no idea how long it’s been, only that Sokka breaks off the kiss at some point and smiles giddily at him, their foreheads bumping against each other when Sokka tilts his head to plant a butterfly-light kiss on Zuko’s cheek.

“Hey there.” Zuko tucks a stray lock of silver behind Sokka’s ear.

“Was that good, Zuko?” Sokka asks, and the way he says Zuko’s name, all haltingly and unsure—something stirs lazily in Zuko’s stomach and manifests itself in the form of a stupidly delirious idea.

“Sokka?” Zuko asks, eyelashes fluttering slightly.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to stay over?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks everyone for the comments/kudos :) feel free to find me on [tumblr ! ](https://haiyah.tumblr.com)


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